I know that a lot of parents write letters to their children starting when they are very young. We haven't really done that for Lucy, but I thought maybe I would use this blog to pen a note to her when the inspiration strikes me. They are intended for her to read when she grows up, but I hope they inspire you to do the same for your children (or for a friend, or another member of your family, etc.)
Dear Lucy,
I really should have started writing you letters a long time ago. You haven't been in our lives all that long, relatively speaking, but I feel that I've already missed out on the chance to write down all the things I would tell you if you could really understand. I know there's no time like the present, though, so I thought I would start tonight.
(full disclosure: I was inspired to do this by a Google Chrome commercial where a dad writes his daughter e-mails that she can read when she gets older. I can't take the credit for the motivation.)
I would play catch up, but you're just 2 days shy of being 18 months old, and 18 months is a long time to go without writing someone a letter. So let's just pretend that we've already caught up. I think you're a gift, a wonderful precocious treasure that God decided to give to us. Everyday, multiple times a day, you do something that makes me immeasurably glad that God picked me to be your mommy. When I'm putting you to bed at night, that's all I can ever remember. I know I have to get on to you a lot during the day, too, and you do things that frustrate me and stress me out, but I can't ever seem to remember those things when I'm cuddling you and singing "I Love You, Lord" or "Edelweiss" to you as your big blue eyes start to close for bedtime. (Don't ask me why those two songs are the ones I've continually sung to you ... they just stuck. One is a love song to God, the other is a love song for the country of Austria that's in the musical The Sound of Music. Go figure.)
Tonight, and for the past few nights, I've rocked you and cuddled you, but not for as long as I used to have to. You see, it used to take a really long time to get you to go to sleep at night. You had to be completely and limply asleep before I would gingerly place you in your crib while trying not to wake you. Then I would try to make it out of your room before you realized I had put you down. I used to wish for the day that I could just lay you in your bed and say goodnight and leave the room. They say be careful what you wish for. They're right.
Now I can cuddle you if I want to (I do), or sing to you if I want to (I usually do), and I always pray over you and rub your back, but when I put you in your crib, you are always completely awake. I rub your back in your bed for a few minutes, and I always say, "Sweet dreams, baby. Night night." And now ... now you are old enough that you say, "Night night" back to me in the sweetest baby voice. When you said it tonight, I started crying before I was even out of the room. I cried because you say it with a little hint of independence in your voice. You say it like, "Night night, mommy, you can leave now, I'm okay." It makes me extremely happy and extremely sad at the same time. I'm happy because it's so cute, and I love that we can communicate better and better every day. I'm sad because I know you're getting older and every night I say "Night night" to you and hear you say it back is one night closer to you being a grownup.
(It might be important to mention, in case you forget the timeline later in life, Lucy, that I'm 33.5 weeks pregnant with your brother Ian, so almost everything makes me cry these days.)
For now, though, I'll focus on the fact that you still need help with a great number of things on a daily basis, and I'll celebrate those things, and not look at them as hindrances. I'll celebrate your independence, too, and not see them as threats to my role in your life.
I love you, Lucybird.
Love,
Mommy
