On Mother’s Day, A Letter to the Pregnant Me

What you need to be doing is sending an extra gift to your own mother. Then call her and thank her. Since you can’t turn back time and make motherhood easy on her, being a better daughter from here on out is the best you can do. Once baby comes, you'll realize this. You’ll develop a guilt complex. Your remedy: Apologize and thank her. For the rest of her life. Right now you think you deserve something for carrying a bump. That’s cute. You don’t know it yet, but by day two of having a real-life being to care for, you’ll begin to question why mother's aren't awarded medals equivalent to a purple heart.

Did I just hear you say that “motherhood begins at conception?” A few kicks and you think you’re roughing it. Your head hurts, your back hurts, your feet hurt, your bum hurts. Milk it loud to your partner every other day – no judging you for wanting those hot fudge sundaes and massages. But milk it silently on Mother’s Day. Those mamas who haven’t had a straight back in close to a year because they’re hunched over breastfeeding, playing, carrying 11+ pounds, and wiping up poop and puke bombs… THOSE mamas don’t want to hear it.

I know, having to sleep on your side is keeping you from a good night’s rest. You haven’t yet religiously woken up every 20 minutes to check if your baby is still breathing. Is she comfortable? Was that a sick cough, or a clearing her throat cough? Is she snoring because she can’t breathe? Is she too hot? Is she too cold? The reality is, just because your baby sleeps through the night, doesn’t mean your mind will let you do the same. You will sleep (not really) with that baby monitor under your pillow. Don’t worry, your husband will make up for all the sleep you’ve been deprived of by snoring beside you. Maybe then you can get in on what today is about.

Stop obsessing over your registry. The items you put on it won’t shape your child. You will. You did get a few things right, though. For one, you walked right passed those cloth diapers without giving them a second look. You kept it real. You saved laundry detergent. You saved your nose. You saved your sanity. You saved yourself a big runny mess. She and you will appreciate a quick wipe and toss and it’s back to play time. You gained extra time to spend with your daughter. Good job. But you don’t really know you made a good decision yet, so telling you this doesn’t mean you’ve earned Mother’s Day.

Stop judging parenting styles. You’ve looked at other babies and thought they’re being burped wrong, they’re not being held enough, their drool hasn’t been wiped in the last 5+ minutes. Whatever is in your head for that perfect baby... news flash: that’s not going to be your baby. She’s not a robot. She’s a wonderful baby now because you’re colorful parents. You’re wacky, you’re spontaneous, and your husband and you love each other and her with everything (seen and unseen) that you have. When it comes time, you’re going to let her play in dirt and color outside the lines. If she wants to be a lefty, so be it. She doesn’t have every toy that Fisher Price makes. At four months old, she tells you about her day and you respond like you know what she’s talking about. She smiles a heck of a lot more than she cries. Maybe you lucked out, big time. You don’t know all this yet though, Mrs. Judgey. I’m sure you have high hopes now and I’m sure people have told you you’ll do great. Don’t celebrate yourself today because of the type of parent you think you’ll be.

Of all these things I’ve let you in on, what I’m sure you will never understand is this: As much as you love that being that’s growing inside of you, that love is just the tiniest sliver of what’s to come. Thought you couldn’t love your family more than you do now? I’ve divulged enough postpartum secrets to you today, so I’ll just let you experience this one for yourself. But for now, give your husband a break. He doesn't need to preemptively honor you on Mother's Day. Honor him instead for putting up for your hormonal antics.

Carry on (quite literally), mom-to-be, but don’t jump the gun by celebrating yourself. You ain’t seen nothing yet.

Now go call your mom.

Sincerely,

you… just one year later.

Oh, and enjoy that brunch. Because this time next year, you won’t remember ever having a full meal uninterrupted.