The Letter Your Child Would Write

Dear Mom,

I’m writing this to you to tell you one thing: don’t worry.

I know that worrying is built into the mom-gene – that it comes with the eyes in the back of the head and the reflexes that somehow make it possible for you to catch the flying juice-box while driving the minivan.

But seriously, don’t worry.

You think I don’t notice when you worry, but I do. I see you worry when I pick the clothes that are too wacky, I see you rub your thumb and fingers together as you ponder if I’m going to be teased or taunted while you want me to find self-expression. And the choice you made? Just fine.

I could tell that you were anxious that I would end up with traits of yours (and dads) that you don’t like in yourself (or dad). And, well, I did. I grabbed one or two juicy ones because it’s in my nature to do things because you don’t want me to. But I also got a much bigger share of the things about that you both that are incredible. And some of those amazing attributes are ones that I bet you didn’t even know you had. You don’t see them, because they’re so hard-wired into who you  are. You look at me and wonder where some amazing ability came from. I’ve heard you tell your friends, “I know! I don’t where that came from!”

It came from you Mom, you gave it to me.

You think that I’m oblivious when you gnash your teeth when you give me Oreos because you know I’m starving and there aren’t any healthy snacks around. But you know what? I love Oreos, they make me happy, and all that other stuff you make me eat when with all the weird colors and flavors do their job pretty well. I have more energy than anyone else in this house, I’m pretty sure, and so I want you to not worry about the Oreos. Or the Cheetos. Except maybe Dad didn’t want me to tell you about those.

All those choices that you made when I was tiny – they were all fine. Even the ones that were different from what your friends did, even the ones that weren’t what the books told you. If you think about anything that hard, Mom, it’s probably going to come out A-okay. Because if you pay that much attention to whether or not I needed cloth diapers or disposable, your commitment to what’s good for me can’t really be called into question.

You fret when something upsets me, you freak out when you do something for yourself, you worry that you’re not teaching me what I need to know and you stress about not doing enough to broaden my horizons.

And I just want to tell you, Mom, stop worrying.

All those things you tell me – that it’s okay to make mistakes, that I can’t know all the answers, that being kind and thoughtful will get me to the right place almost all the time? How come those things are true for me and not for you?

I think they’re true for you, too.

Because when you live those words, they become a thousand times more true for me.

You’ve taught me to speak my mind, say “please and thank you,” that you have to mean “I’m sorry” when you say it, to get up when I fall down, that a scraped knee is not the end of the world. You taught me to be nice to the dog and the smaller kids on the playground, that it’s okay to take a break when you’re upset and that I should treat people how I want to be treated. You’ve shown me that tiny things can be the most amazing and that purple Popsicles will stain my fingers and your tablecloth.

And most of all, Mom, you’ve taught me how to be proud tomorrow of the person I was today.

So really, you’re doing an awesome job. And I want you to worry less and laugh more.

Because as much as you love my laugh, I love yours.

And I love you.

-Me