A Letter to Future Me

Dear Me 20 Years from Now:

I want you to remember that they were the hardest thing you have ever done. I want you to remember that you loved them the hardest you have ever loved anything, from day one. Except when they were screaming so loudly at 3am that they were out of breath, and smashing your head between the mattress and the pillow did not even come close to mitigating the pounding in your head or the muffled sounds of your spouse wondering aloud, "Why, God, why?"

I want you to know that you were completely overwhelmed by them all the time. Especially when they refused to sit in their car seats, would not (I repeat, not) eat the legumes/carrots/good-food-group-foods you so lovingly pureed for them in a special apparatus made just for pureeing teeny tiny baby foods. Especially when they had back poop. Especially when they cried and cried for Daddy, even when he wasn't the one who woke up so many times to feed them in the middle of the night that you seriously considered ways to contract avian flu just so that someone might have mercy and say, "Rest. I'll take care of you."

I hope that you finally got that rest. I hope that you have time for daily Pilates-Bikram Yoga-jogging (insert image of preternaturally serene woman in a downward dog pose here). I hope you finally finished reading one of those books by one of those Jonathans in Brooklyn. I hope you finally watched Downton Abbey. I hope you finally went somewhere (anywhere!) and turned your phone off. I hope your kids call you as much as you want them to (but not too much) and that you (sometimes) screen their calls because you're "busy." (I hope you are busy solving world peace-writing the next Pulitzer-winning novel-drinking Pinot-reenacting Fifty Shades of Grey). I hope your kiddos are now your best friends and give you those grandkids you so want (but don't beg, it's not flattering on anyone).

I hope you remember those years in technicolor detail. I hope you still think of their tiny feet and hands and smile. I hope that when you see a young, frazzled mom in the supermarket carting around three kids, you enjoy a nostalgic moment and then quickly flee the scene to get a manicure.

Love,
You