Many years ago, when I was nowhere near ready to be a parent, I was on a flight home from an ultra-long business trip. The guy to my left was snoring, and I needed to distract myself with a good read. That’s when I stumbled upon an article that struck a chord with me. The piece I read, detailed how a father decided to write his daughter a letter on each of her birthdays. The messages contained information about current events each year. Some of the details covered pop culture, and others included political news. Each letter he wrote described her favorite past times and told her about her challenges. He always ended with some lesson or advice. This father wrote these with the intention of giving the letters to her on her 18th birthday.
I loved the idea so much that years later when I became pregnant, I decided to do something similar.
I keep a journal and write to my daughter every year on her birthday.
I ended up writing to her any other time I felt inspired too. Before she was born, I wrote about our excitement of bringing her into the world. I shared where we lived and where her dad and I went from nine to five each weekday. On her 18th birthday, she will read how I felt when my maternity leave ended when she was three months old. She will have a list of nicknames she went by when she was two. Perhaps she’ll share with her kids that she played in the baptismal water during her ceremony. When asked about her love of theatre, she’ll be able to say, “I performed my first Disney concert in a public restroom.” My daughter will know more about her grandmother who passed away too early.
One journal became two when my son was born.
He’ll laugh when reading that at three, he used to hug his sister goodbye, but then follow the hug with a punch. He will be proud to learn that he rode his bike without training wheels at an early age. My son will hear about coaching me Rocky-style; riding his bike alongside my slow jog. His four-year-old self was yelling “Come on Mom! You can do it!” He’ll know he talks in his sleep, voicing garbled words, or yammering on about “taking a village.” My son will learn his habit of peppering a person with questions started before he could form words. He will determine that he was an old soul from day one.
My mom used to do the same thing when I was little.
Her’s was in the form of handwritten notes tucked into my lunch for me to find when I was at school. I would regularly find an “I love you” note or a “you are a fantastic girl” scribble. I only wish I kept them to look back on.
My kids will appreciate my syrupy quips detailing things only a mother could love.
I now gift a journal to expectant mother friends when the opportunity presents itself. Documenting sweet childhood memories so that we can all re-live the past is a gift that keeps on giving.
More in Parenting
