Posted in Letter to Matthew

Sixty Seconds

 For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness.

–Ralph Waldo Emerson

I wasted enough seconds today with sadness and anger…moments when I should have been looking at Matthew’s eyelashes, playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with Katie, or holding Craig’s hand.

Tomorrow, just happiness.

A Birthday Letter to My Sweet Boy

Dear Matthew,

There are times when I sit down to write and the words just flow…when the words are there, just waiting to be written.

This isn’t one of those times.

Each time I sit down to write this letter, I stare at a blank screen.

That is how much I love you, my sweet boy.

There just aren’t words to tell you how much.

You are, without question, one of my life’s greatest gifts.

Each night, in the darkness of your bedroom, I hold you close in your rocking chair and I grasp for the words to tell you what you mean to me.

Five minutes…ten…fifteen…just a few minutes more.

I know that I should go…but you make me weak.

With your kisses; what were once nose kisses are now proper cheek kisses.

With your hugs and the way you hold onto me as though just a few minutes longer are all you’ll need.

Most nights, I can barely tear myself away from you…from the whispers and the hugs.

Thank you, Matthew…thank you for wearing your love for me on the outside…for holding me with all that you are.

Each night, as I close the door to your room, I feel as though you couldn’t possibly know how much I love you.

Because there aren’t words for this kind of love.

So, I will spend my lifetime showing you.

Happy second birthday, my beautiful boy.

You are my sunshine.

With a heart bursting with love,


But You Are

My sweet baby boy,

We walk to your room…to bedtime.

And I hold my breath.

I place you on your changing table, stripping you of your dinner-stained clothes. I change your diaper and softly sing “You Are My Sunshine.”

And I hold my breath.

I pull clean jammies from your drawer and pull the top over your head, thread your legs through the pants.

And I hold my breath.

We collect your pacifier and settle into your rocking chair.

I feel the weight of your 18-month old body as you rest against me.

I sing you the ABC song.

And I hold my breath.

I ask you, “Matthew, would you like some milk?”

And you shake your head no.

You touch my cheeks with your chubby hands and rest your smooth forehead on mine and melt into me.

You sit up, look me in the eye and then press your face against mine and sigh.

You’re done.

And I don’t feel ready.

But you do.

You do.

So, I hold you.

And I whisper I love yous.

Together, we redefine this bedtime dance.

You need me still. I know that.

I’m not ready, but you are.

So we are done.

I will follow your lead, my darling boy.

I will trust that you know what is right.

But I will count on those moments with you where you touch my cheek and offer me your full weight.

And I hold my breath.

Always yours,


Bittersweet Changes

Dear Sweet Matthew,

When Katie was a baby, I delayed solids until I felt increasing  pressure from others to introduce her to cereal.  I held my ground until she was 8 months old, when I caved because her pediatrician suggested that I have her iron levels tested.  The thought of a blood draw was enough for me to cringe and immediately introduce her to cereal. 

Though she liked eating and did well, I have always second guessed that decision and wondered if I should have held out a bit longer.  Before you were born, I decided that I would wait until you were 12 months old to begin solids. 

For the past couple of weeks, you have been wanting to nurse every two hours and have seemed truly unsettled after nursing.  You have also begun waking up at 5:30 every morning to nurse.  You’ve been crying so often and lunging for me, hoping to eat.

So, after a great deal of internal debate, we did this:

And you absolutely loved it. 

You get so excited when we place you in your high chair.  You smile between every bite and you are happier throughout the entire day.  You were hungry and it breaks my heart that my determination to make it to a certain date kept me from doing what was right for you earlier than I did. 

As much as I know that you were ready for solids, I can’t express how sad it makes me.  You are quite possibly our last baby and with each milestone that you reach, you are less my baby. 

Nursing is such an emotional experience, one that unites us in such an amazing way.  And if I’m honest, I have to admit that I like that I have been giving you something that no one else could.  We never gave you a bottle, so every single bit of your nourishment up to this point has come directly from me. 

You were 8 months and 12 days old when you first had cereal. 

And for 8 months and 12 days, I could look at you and know that it was my milk that helped you to grow and to thrive.

I love you, Matthew, and I am so grateful for the connection that we have.  I promise to always do what is best for you, even if it isn’t the easy choice for me.

With love and snuggles,


So That You May Know Her…

Dear Katie and Matthew,

Your grandmother is lying in a hospital bed tonight and she is dying. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but very soon.

Daddy is with her, holding her hand and telling her just how much we all love her.

Neither of you will remember her and that breaks my heart.

There is so much about her that I want you both to know.

She was dynamic. She could quote Shakespeare, discuss philosophy, and sing and play the guitar. Daddy tells a childhood story of camping with her–he remembers her sweet voice singing over the crackling of the campfire. I wish I could have heard that.  I wish you could have heard that.

She was eclectic. I will never forget the outfit she wore to your Uncle Todd’s graduation. She was dressed from head to toe in the most vibrant shade of turquoise, complete with floppy hat and arms adorned with bangle bracelets that just sparkled in the sunlight. She was lit from within in that wild outfit and it suited her beautifully.

She was intelligent. She was a well-respected trauma nurse who pursued her education while raising three young boys. She saw so much in her days as a nurse that made her even more compassionate and empathetic.

She was kind. She was quick to tell you why you were special to her. She was so generous with her words and never missed an opportunity to tell you exactly what made you unique. Sometimes, she would make me blush with her compliments, but I always appreciated and welcomed them.

She was whimsical. She loved astrology and loved to tell you what your sign meant and how it impacted you. Daddy and I would roll our eyes, but that didn’t stop her–she believed it and it was endearing.

She was the most optimistic person I’ve ever known. Her glass, even in the most difficult of times, was always half full. When life dealt her a terrible hand, she found inner strength that astonished us.

She will live on in your daddy, who is the man that he is because of her. She taught him to be a gentleman, to be kind and courteous. It was from her that he learned how to treat women and how to respect others.

I want you each to know that she loved you. She was so happy to have grandchildren and you made her just light up. She exuded happiness when she spoke of all of the fun that you would have with her as you grew and I’m so sorry that you won’t have that opportunity. She would have caused all sorts of fun trouble with you.  She truly looked forward to being, in her words, “your partner in crime.”

I am so truly sorry that you didn’t have the opportunity to know her.

I promise to share all of my stories with you. I will do all that I can to keep her alive in my memory so that I can share her with you both.

She has had such a rough time of it. Now it is time for us to wish her peace.

With all of my love,

About me

Nichole Beaudry @NicholeBeaudry Location: Northern California
Each and every day, I strive to appreciate the wonder, beauty, and whimsy in the small moments, the moments that, when strung together, form a lifetime.
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