Pregnant on Mother’s Day? Mother’s day letters to your future self

Dear Future Me,

Today is Mother’s Day.

It is the first time I am celebrating it, and yet it feels like I am suspended between two worlds. I don’t have my baby in my arms yet.  No spit-up on my shirt. No sleepless nights holding a crying newborn while pacing the hallway. Not yet.

But I do have something else. I have a heartbeat fluttering inside me. I have dreams that begin and end with a baby I have not yet met. And I have love. So much love.

So I am writing this letter to you, the version of me who will one day hold this baby. Maybe you are reading this while rocking them to sleep. Or maybe they are already walking and talking, and your days are filled with tiny footsteps and bigger emotions. Wherever you are in the journey, I want to tell you what it feels like to be here. On this side. Waiting.

Please remember how it felt to wonder who this little person would be. To press your hands to your growing belly and ask silently, “Are you okay in there?” To imagine their face. To wonder what kind of parent you will become.

Please remember how often you doubted yourself. How many nights you lay awake, googling symptoms, overthinking decisions, holding your breath before every appointment. There was so much fear. Fear of losing, fear of failing, fear of not being enough. But there was hope too. So much hope.

Remember the magic, too. The first time you heard their heartbeat. The day you felt them flutter for the first time, like butterfly wings against your ribs. These were the little moments that made everything feel real.

It is not always easy. Some days feel endless. Some days I feel like a stranger to my own body. I look in the mirror and see someone swollen and stretched and tired. And then I feel the tiniest kick, and I remember. I remember that I am not alone. That I am already a mother. Even if I have not yet held them.

If you are reading this years from now, in the middle of a chaotic afternoon or after a long bedtime routine, I hope you take a moment to breathe and remember how hard you prayed for this. How deeply you wished to be where you are now. Even if it is messy and loud and nothing like you imagined.

I hope you are patient with yourself. I hope you have learned to forgive yourself for the moments you snapped, for the times you cried in the bathroom, for the days you wished you could escape for just a minute of peace. I hope you know those moments do not define you. The love you show every day, even in exhaustion, does.

I hope you are taking pictures, even when you feel like a mess. I hope you are asking for help, letting people in, giving yourself permission to rest. I hope you are still finding little pieces of the woman you used to be, and learning how to weave her into the mother you are becoming.

Because you are still her. And she still matters.

Today, I do not have breakfast in bed or handmade cards. There are no tiny voices calling me “Mama.” But I have this growing belly. I have this sacred waiting. I have this deep love that I carry everywhere I go.

And that is enough.

You may have forgotten how it felt to be on this side of motherhood. But I will remember it for you. I will hold this version of us close, and remind you that you were always enough. Even before the diapers and milestones and birthday parties. 

So Happy Mother’s Day, future me. You’re doing it. I’m proud of you already.

And wherever this baby is now—in your arms, in their crib, grown up and rolling their eyes at you—I hope you look at them and remember me. This version of you who is waiting, loving, and hoping with everything she’s got.

With all my heart,
Me (and the little one inside)

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