Dear Lost-Decade Me,
That’s what they call it, you know. That span of time when you placed yourself on hold because you had children whose diapers and organic food and boo-boo’s weren’t going to fix themselves.
Those years when your name was MOMMOMMMMOMMM and sticky little fingers would slide under the bathroom door as you rested or cried or snarfed down some chocolate. And then you brought yet another human into the world all over again and somehow kept TWO of them alive.
You stayed in the trenches with them despite the tactile overload and postpartum depression and knowledge that your husband rather missed the old, carefree you. You successfully taught them how to not eat buttons or rocks, but more importantly, also how to love.
I am proud of you.
That whole-hearted commitment you put out there was really good stuff. I mean, like WOW. Since nobody ever really told you that, I am here to say it: Good job. You will not regret it.
There are few more things I would like you to know, too. Not about you-the-mom, but about you-the-you.