In 2002 I started a written journal as an adult. I wrote each entry to my as-of-yet unborn child(ren). The reason behind it was that I have never really known my parents. Sure, I know my mother was born in 1950 and had an older sister, that kind of stuff. But I know nothing about what makes her tick and WHY certain events shaped her so much. She's so very closed off about many parts of her life. So was my dad. The result is that I know very little about either of my parents. The info I've gotten has been gleaned out of my uncle, and he didn't know my mother that well. At least he can fill in some parts about my dad though.
I urged myself to be more open with my own child(ren). I wanted to confess my mistakes, acknowledge them, and then show how I've used those events to change or, in some cases, explain why I likely won't ever fully get over them.
I plan to give the journals to my child when she turns 18. There was a dilemma I had if I ended up having 2 kids because there would only be one copy. But, alas, it turns out that I will very likely only have 1 kid, so that's not a problem now.
My problem has been that I've slacked off on the journal writing. My last entry was in 2008, a few months after she was born. Yep, I slacked for a whole 4 years! We all know why. I've been blogging more and physically writing less.
I didn't rave about her first steps, her first words, etc. It's okay. She probably realizes that I'm not that kind of mom. I'm more of the mom that looks at her and wonders about the 143 ways I'm going to screw her up and hope she can somehow thrive nonetheless.