Letter to my first born, second born …and third born

Letter to my first born,  second born …and third born
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I’ve been thinking. Thinking about what kind of a mom I am, what kind I want to be and whether or not I remembered to close my daughter’s window in her room.

To my first born: I’m sorry for everything I didn’t know. I didn’t realize that that specific cry meant you were gassy because I had indulged in a lentil salad the night before and then proceeded to breastfeed you. I thought shampooing your hair, okay bald head every night would help you sleep better not that it would give you a bad cold at 2 months. I didn’t mean to shove the pacifier in your mouth every time you cried, it was just something that sort of happened and you seemed to like it. My bad. You probably hated me when I decided it was too much dummy soothing time and that we had to cut you off cold turkey two months in. I’m sorry for recording every single cry, documenting every single arm movement and step in utero and out. I experienced all these moments through the lens of a camera but forgive me, it was all too exciting to not replay back for complete strangers.

To my second born (now almost 8 weeks old): I’m sorry I didn’t eat as well as I should have the whole 9 months. In fact, I really hope you forgive me for turning reese’s pieces and bowls of cereal into a nutritious lunch. I’m sorry you were squished and forced to retreat to a corner on the right side of the abdomen on numerous occasions when I was trying to give your sister a bath. I’m sorry I didn’t diligently write in your journal every night as I did with your sister. Some nights I could barely scribble down what I had eaten and convince myself (and in turn hope to convince you) that this was my latest craving when I wasn’t too sure if I had even enjoyed it. I’m sorry for forgetting what week I was half the time and ignoring your kicks and waves the other half. Thank you for being so cooperative with deadlines and your sister’s playful high fives on my tummy. Hope those weren’t too annoying.

To my third…I know I’m going to be the most chilled with you. The most relaxed, the most at ease and the most confident. Or so I think because the thought of you seems so far in the future now that I can predict and promise and commit to all sorts of things I surely won’t follow through on.

Despite all my past and future shortcomings, I am not sorry. I am not sorry that I will try to be the best mother I can be for the rest of my life. I am not sorry that whatever trials come my way, I will fight tooth and nail to give you the best life possible. I am not sorry that I will be with you for as long as I can through this beautiful, exciting and challenging thing we call life. Too bad guys, you’re stuck with me!

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