Dear Future King of England:
You don't know me, although to be truthful, at this point in your life you don't really know anyone except maybe your mum. You're only hours old, but you are already causing a serious uproar.
Social media -- you'll learn about that eventually, if we haven't already moved on to something else by the time you are 2 -- has followed your birth literally from conception. Amazingly, this is likely to be the least attention you'll be having. You are, after all, the future king.
Those are rather big booties to fill for a baby who has spent the past 9 months in, as they say, utero. So I'd like to offer some advice to you.
I'm no one special; just a Yank whose tenuous connection to your home country has grown less relevant with each new generation. Like most Americans, I'm a bit fuzzy on royal protocol, so I can't help you there. But I'm a good observer, so what I have to say may come in handy, somewhere down the line, like when you start rolling over on your own or when you start storming the castle, if you get my drift, which you don't, but you will.
First off, you should know that your destiny was sealed the moment your mother and father conceived you. That's a hard one to wrap your head around, crown or no crown. The rest of us, well we get to decide whether we will become fire fighters or doctors or journalists. I'm afraid you've got "king" stamped on your resume and it's not going away.
But that doesn't mean you can't do other things while you're waiting -- and it is going to be a long wait. I'd avoid taking what one might call the Harry route.
Harry is your uncle. He used to be third in line to the throne. Now he's fourth. (I'm sure he won't hold it against you.) While Harry has carved out a nice military career for himself, he's also been photographed naked cavorting with wanton women. Or maybe they were just women who found themselves in the company of royalty and were happy to be there. Either way, not a good way to go. Those odd things you've now found yourself in are called clothes, and it's rather a good idea to keep them on in public.
Your father, second in line for the throne, is a good example. He appears stable with a good head on his shoulder. He also inherited the family trait of early hair loss. I know you probably don't have much hair at the moment and don't see what the big deal is, but trust me. You'll be hoping that particular gene is recessive once you reach your 20s.
As I mentioned before, your birth was eagerly anticipated by millions around the world. Don't let that scare you. Some of those same people were anxious for Kim Kardashian to give birth, too. But there's something you need to know. All of these people aren't excited because you're going to be king some day.
Your great-grandmum -- you'll be meeting her soon; don't forget to bow -- has made the birth of future kings a little "been there, done that." The queue building up behind her is getting embarrassingly long and she shows no signs of stepping down.
No, I think most of us, me included, saw your birth as something beyond ancient heraldry. You are another piece of the legacy, a flesh-and-blood connection to your grandmother, Diana.
Diana is your dad's mum. By all accounts, she was a brilliant mother, putting him and Harry first in life, especially when that life fell apart. You'll learn all about it in time, and try not to hold it against your grandfather. Your kingdom seems to have forgiven him.
Folks like me who never met Diana and only knew the public side of her, felt an unexplainable connection to her, and making her untimely death even more tragic. Without ever talking about it, we sort of decided we were going to watch out for her children; be her representative, at least at heart. We all had front row seats, courtesy the telly, when your dad and mum got married. And now, two years later, here you are.
It's difficult to think of Diana as being a grandmother, although I'm certain she would have been a great one. She probably would have had a fantastic grandmother name, like DeeDee or Mimsy. And she would have loved you as much as your mom and dad do.
I don't know if you believe in angels, being only a few hours old. Heck, I'm 57 and I don't know. But the spirit of your grandmother lives on in the memories of others, and so in that way, you'll be able to feel her presence, too.
You'll make us proud, I know. And just two more things before I close. Don't take yourself too seriously, and don't take any wooden shillings.
Contact Joan Morris at firstname.lastname@example.org; or 1700 Cavallo Road, Antioch, CA 94509.