Back when we were trying to get pregnant with our first child I spent inordinate amounts of time thinking about what I’d do as a mother. It’s one of the ways I survived years of surgeries, infertility treatments, and even miscarriage. I’d think “one day when I’m a Mom I will…” and insert whatever well-meaning, and perhaps even naive, notion I had of motherhood. Now that I’m 5+ years into motherhood I finally made good of a “one day when” idea – letters to my children.
Some of my most prized possessions are letters my grandmother wrote when I was a child. She was an avid writer, especially letters, and we wrote to each other starting when I was age ten. Those letters are tucked away in a box, but I pull them out every so often to read. Reading her letters as a thirty-something resonates more than as a teenager. It’s obvious now that she was communicating messages and life lessons that would mean more in adulthood than childhood. What a gift.
Today I sat down and wrote my three children a letter. A seemingly small gesture that I hope one-day they value as much as I do my grandmother’s letters. I purchased each child a Moleskin notebook that I plan to pass along when they’re grown. Since I haven’t excelled at keeping a baby book or notes about them growing up, I thought the notebook full of letters will be a suitable substitute. The letters are filled with memories or funny things they’ve said or random stories that may get lost in the hustle and bustle of daily life. The lost art of letter writing is a gift I’ll pass onto my children, and I hope they’ll do the same with their children. Their Great-Grandmother would be so proud.