My Mom was a single parent and barely nineteen years old when I was born. She wrote me letters when I was baby - something that inspired me to do the same for my daughter. I can't believe she was mature enough to do something so special for me. They are incredibly precious to me particularly, because she is gone and isn't around for me to talk to about motherhood and my own sweet daughter.
Here is one of her letters. I plan to share more.
Hi, I'm going to write you now to let you in on a few facts about yourself as an infant.
On August 10, 1974, I brought you home. Grandma came and picked us up at the hospital. She stayed with us a couple of nights. The first day with you was a great occasion. You see, I went through quite a lot during my pregnancy since I was unwed. You had finally become my baby and no one else's. You didn't smile much, oh you were so tiny. At the hospital, you drank five ounces before we went home. Grandma did most everything for you as I was supposed to rest. You were real good though. You only woke two, maybe three times during the night and you never cried. The first time you really cried was when you went to Dr. Becker for your two week check-up. All that was done was I took all of your clothes off and you didn't like that at all. I was assured I had a perfectly healthy baby girl. When the nurse tried to take a blood test out of the heel of your foot I had to sit down because I almost fainted. Your first urine test was ruined because you pooped in it after you drank four ounces of water. The first doctor's appointment was a real experience. He held you in the palm of his hand. Maybe I should say your tummy. And here I was so careful.
You came home and all you did was eat and sleep. You gradually began to kick your legs a little more. You cord fell off at one and a half weeks. You even started to recognize me. You would laugh all by yourself when you looked at Humpty Dumpty, but wouldn't laugh when I tried to get you to. That was when you were about one and a half months old. At six weeks, I put you in your crib in my room. Then we moved so I put you in your own room. From two to three months you really started to come alive. At three and a half months you started to recognize me if I walked into your room. And you just adored Uncle Robert. At two months, you would laugh at me. You love to hear stories.
Right now you are almost four months old. You seem to sleep more now than ever. At six weeks you started to sleep all night. And you have ever since. You've turned over twice, but that's all. Pretty soon you'll be turning over all the time. You're growing so fast now. Last night in bed you turned your head from side to side so many times you have chapped cheeks. Rosy Red is what I call you. I also call you Punkin. Uncle Robert calls you Tourtney. He thinks that's cute. I only hope you don't think that's your name. Well, I'll stop now. It's 12:00 p.m., November 25, 1974.