A Letter to Future Me: Remember How Much You
Loved Them
Dear
Me 20 Years From Now,
I
wonder if you've become one of those women who briefly lingers around, a safe
distance behind, young moms carting their babies and toddlers through the
grocery store with that far-off look in your eyes. If you gently smile at the
mom when she looks up and catches your glance, obviously frazzled by how
challenging taking 2 kids grocery shopping is, as if to tell her it's going to
be okay. If you look at her and miss that time, want so badly to trade 5
minutes of the independence you have now that your kids are much older so that
you can rest a toddler's head on your shoulder, or buckle a baby in their car
seat, mindful not to pinch any belly chub in the harness.
I have
a feeling that you might be, and there are some things I want you to know, some
things I'm willing you to remember.
I want
you to remember that they were the hardest thing you'd ever done. They
challenged you, and they kept you up at night. They pushed your buttons, and
they were never, ever quiet... unless they were in trouble. I want you to remember that you loved them
the hardest you've ever loved anything, from day one, and every day after
that.
I want
you to know that you were completely overwhelmed nearly all the time. The
thought of taking them anywhere by yourself made you want to hide in bed all
day. You were overwhelmed by the responsibility. You had NO clue what you were
doing. You were overwhelmed by how much they trusted you and how much they
needed you. You were overwhelmed by how
much you needed and loved them.
I want
you to remember how it felt to lay side by side next to your 4-year-old before
he drifted off to sleep. How you talked face to face, nose to nose, about his
day. How you told him you were excited to see how much he would grow by the
morning, and how in the morning you'd lay in bed next to him and stretch his
arms and legs out, exclaiming, "LOOK HOW MUCH YOU GREW LAST NIGHT!"
How that put the biggest smile on his face.
I want
you to remember what it felt like to hold your 18-month-old on your lap,
wrapping your arms around her and laying them on her bulging tummy. How the
back of her head and the handful of baby curls at the nape of her neck felt and
smelled when you rested your head atop hers.
I want you to know that you were acutely aware of
how fast they were growing. Even
though many days would pass in the blink of an eye, there would always be a
moment when your world would snap to a halt, and you would look at them while
they were doing something mundane and normal, and you would be painfully
conscious that they were no longer the size they were last week, and that they
would never be the size they are at that moment again.
I want
you to know that you went to bed every night with one simple wish for the next
day. To just do better.
Even though you
were tired and challenged, exasperated and overwhelmed, you knew then
that you would miss these days... most of them, at least. It was a truth that
was hard to live with, and most of the time you ignored it because there was
nothing you could do about the passing of time. If you spent your days mourning
the ones that had gone by, you'd miss out on the days you were living in.
You knew you
were on a light rail, moving at speeds you couldn't comprehend. You had no
control over the ride that brought you to where you are today, but believe me
when I say you searched so very hard to find the emergency brake.
Please know,
please remember that you tried to savor that time. Be at peace, knowing you
spent late afternoons curled up with them on the couch, that sometimes you just
sat and watched them move and run, that occasionally you took inventory of all
the things they'd learned in the last week, and that you appreciated your time
with them the best you knew how. Know that despite your very best efforts,
there was no way to freeze time.
I promise you,
you tried.
Love,
you
you
