My little love,
Everything in that letter was right. But the truth is, now that you are here and I really know you—know how it feels to hold you in my arms, know the sound of your sweet giggle, know the power of my love for you, I need to try to write the letter again.
Because there is nothing in the world that could have prepared me for the magnitude of you.
So if I could write that letter again, fully understanding the amazing child I was about to give birth to, here’s what it would say.
I cannot wait to meet you. I understand now that my entire life has been a build up to this moment—the moment I become your mom.
Yes, I have been my own person (as I will continue to be), but I can see now that every step along the way was part of my journey to motherhood. To you.
Part of that journey were the steps I took with guiding me—when I decided to go down south to college. When I moved to New York City after graduation determined to be single with a closet full of Manolos (ahem, thanks Carrie Bradshaw), got a job as a waitress (at a place I almost decided not to apply to)—and met your dad there one week later.
Fast-forward to the day your dad and I looked at each other over burgers and said, “I think maybe we’re ready to have a baby?” (Spoiler alert, I never got the Manolos.)
All of those decisions and steps lead me to this moment. I am supposed to be your mom. You are supposed to be my baby.
And along the journey, I have grown into the woman who is going to raise you.
Every time I learned something, experienced pure joy, had my heart broken—I carry that all with me as a woman and as your mother.
The person I am right now, on the eve of meeting you, will still be here tomorrow after you’re born. My hair won’t look as good, but I will still be there, sharing every part of me with you.
I need you to know how fierce my love for you will be. I love you right now, yes. But when you are born…I can’t even find the words. Maybe I can describe it like this: When a baby is born, their entire —the way their heart works, the way their body gets oxygen—it’s pretty amazing.
I think maybe the same things happens to a mother. My heart is about to start working differently.
When you are placed on my chest for the first time, my heart is going to swell near to bursting. When , my heart is going to break. When I watch you take your first steps, or walk into your first classroom, my heart is going to pound as I try to fight back my tears of pride and fear.
My body is also about to start getting its oxygen differently.
When I sit with you in the emergency room, I will hold my breath until the doctor comes in and tells me that you’re going to be okay. When I turn my back on you for 2.7 seconds only to find that you have dumped the flour out all over yourself and the floor, I will inhale deeply as . And when you climb into my bed and snuggle into the crook of my arm, I will exhale every stress and worry as I melt into your warmth and fall asleep.
Everything in my life is going to change. Everything.
I am pretty self-focused. I love your dad and do whatever I can for him, but really beyond that, it’s just kind of always been about me. That is about to change…a lot.
Baby, you are about to rock my world.
But I want you to know that it’s all so wonderful. None of that is a complaint in any way. I love the way my life will shift and evolve.
I love that you will make me notice a worm crawling across the sidewalk or the beauty of falling snow or how fun bubbles really are.
I love that making the world a better place will become a necessity—I will vote in every election, I will call senators and I will use my voice instead of just listening to what everyone else has to say.
I love that you will make me find my strength and confidence. Giving birth to you tomorrow is the start. with you night after night, struggling with breastfeeding, getting through the tantrums, learning how to define and stand up for my values—I am going to be a beast.
There are going to be things I mess up, (many) days when I doubt myself, times that are just really hard for both of us. But I promise that I still love you, even when my “face looks grumpy.”
You will make me proud every day, just by being you. There is nothing you can tell me that will make me stop loving you, ever. Not ever. Being your mom is the greatest honor of my life.
Well, baby. They say I should get some sleep—apparently tomorrow is going to be a lot of work.
I love you today, I love you tomorrow, I love you forever. Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.