As I cruised the internet the other day, I came across this "Letter to my 51 year old self" on a blog called Baby Rabies from Jill. It really resonated with me, I hope you enjoy it to:
http://www.babyrabies.com/2012/07/a-letter-to-my-51-year-old-self/
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
