Tag Archives: Letters to Self

Letter to Myself, The Mum

Letter to Myself, The Mum | R.Simple Life

Let me introduce you to my friend Tracey. We met in college, moved in together, and the rest is history. She will forever be one of my best friends. Tracey also happens to be pregnant. So as a first time mother, and a pretty lady expecting her first baby (a little girl!) you can imagine what we talk about. But when we’re done talking about hockey and physics, we do talk a little bit about babies. And pregnancy. And parenting.

The other day, we got to talking about motherhood, and more specifically, all the things we want to be (and don’t want to be) as a mother. And the more we discussed these things, the more we realized we need to keep ourselves accountable. Sure, it’s easy to say now I’ll let Harry go to the prom without me as a chaperone (Tracey will go in my place) but when the time comes, I need someone to remind me I said he could go. And other things like that.

So we’ve decided to write ourselves letters. Sort of “Dear Me, Remember to savor every kiss because who knows how long they’ll be coming” and “Dear Me, please, please try to refrain from kissing him in front of his friends past the age of 5, unless he’s been naughty and it’s punishment.” Things we’d like to remember, ideas we have now.

The plan is to pull these letters out whenever we need a little reminding. Or a little laugh (I’m sure, as the naïve new Mum I am now, I’ll have a couple things in there that might strike me as funny somewhere down the line). And to hold ourselves accountable to be the kind of mother we’d like to be. And not the kind of mother we don’t want to be.

This makes me curious though… parents out there, is there anything you’ve done that has surprised you in the name of parenting? Harry’s not even 4 months old, and I’ve already got a nice, long list.

xoxo, Mallory

PS you’re welcome for that gem of a photo, world.

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Things I don’t want to forget

R.Simple Life

+ The way your hair gets all fuzzy and matted in the back. It tickles my arm when I’m feeding you.

+ The squawking. Like a dinosaur. Seriously, like a dinosaur. Is it singing? You do it to Justin Timberlake. Is it talking? You did it at 6am this morning. Whatever it is, it’s the greatest.

+ The way your little hand holds on to my arm when you’re eating. And my shirt.

+ How soft your skin is. It blows my mind how soft your skin is.

+ How much you love to see yourself in the mirror.

+ The kisses. Oh, the kisses. Mouth wide open. In it to win it. The best is when you request them.

+ Your determination to stand. Just because you arch your entire body, little buddy, doesn’t mean you’ll automatically stand. But until you learn that, I’ll be there to help.

+ That sweet, gummy smile that greets Papa and me whenever you haven’t seen us for a while.

+ Your patience with reading. Sure, you have opinions about which books you want to read, but when we’re reading the right ones, you could sit there for hours.

+ Your little open mouth stare when the TV is on. Just like your Papa’s.

+ The way you kick and punch and rock your head side to side before you’re fully awake.

+ Your hair. Just, your hair.

+ Those first few seconds in the tub where your tongue comes out. What are you licking?

+ The way your little scratchy fingernails feel on my skin.

+ How you hold my lips in your hand when you’re tired. I think it’s a way to show me your affection.

+ The way you fall asleep in an instant as soon as I lie you down next to me.

+ The way your whole body tenses up as we walk down the stairs.

I love you Harry Bear.

xoxo, Mum

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Roller Coaster

Trying to have a baby is a roller coaster.

There comes a time when you pull the goalie, so to speak. You decide the prospect of raising a human being is not as scary as it was three months ago when you were hoarding condoms and popping pills daily. It’s a new kind of scary. An exciting kind of scary. Like a roller coaster.

So you let it happen. You give up control. See where the cards will fall. And then you start to notice babies. Babies everywhere. Babies crying, babies laughing, babies walking and talking. Strollers, diaper bags, blankets, and cribs. Rompers, bumpers, tee pees and bibs. And you start think that maybe you could really do this. You get on board. You jump in with both feet. You google “ovulation.”

27,500,000 hits in .09 seconds. It’s intimidating. It’s scary.  So you just look at one. It says you ovulated 14 days after the start of your first month. You take that at face value. And you leave it alone.

When a month goes by and you discover you are obviously NOT pregnant, you’re oddly disappointed. You didn’t “try” but you didn’t not “try.” You’ve been trying for so long to not have a baby, when you stopped you figured it was bound to happen. But it’s okay. Next month you’ll do your thing on day 14 and see what happens.

So you try and nothing. Again. This might happen one, two, six, ten, twelve times before it starts to bug you. But when it does, watch out.

At the beginning of the month, you’re crabby, as all women are when we’re experiencing that visitor. But you’ve got another reason to be crabby. A week of feeling bloated and gross, and not being pregnant, goes by, then it’s business time. The thermometer comes out. The chart is started. Everything is timed. Everything is precise. A week later, it’s over.

Then it’s time to wait. Two weeks of waiting. Of hoping. Of wishing. Of not getting your hopes up. Of thinking of names. Of discussing due dates. Of really trying hard not to get your hopes up. Of waiting.

The last three days are the worst. Day 27 comes and goes. You’re excited, but weary. Day 28 comes and goes. The excitement grows, but so does the weariness. If you’re lucky, you’re visitor will show up today. If you’re not, you’ve got as many as 3 more days of agony.

If you’re really lucky, you’ve made a baby.

If you’re really not lucky, your monthly visitor is back. And it all starts over again.

So here is what I have to say. When you’re pushing someone to have a baby. Putting pressure on them, because you as a mother, sister, aunt, grandma, are ready. Just remember, it’s not that easy. Not for everyone. And maybe she’s already been trying since December.

xoxo, M

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