Jenna Bush Hager - Everything Beautiful in Its Time: Seasons of Love and Loss

Dearest Mila and Poppy,

This is a letter about motherhood, a word you dont yet truly understand. Sure, you say the word Mama countless times a daya word I will never tire of hearing. But motherhoodand the unconditional love and longing (and anxiety and guilt) that come along with itis something you wont know about for many years.

My mama, your Grammee, is one of the all-time greats. She always put us first; she was calm and patient even when we tested her. I watched her mother for many years, but it wasnt until you were born that I understood what motherhood means. And it wasnt until I held youwith Grammee by my hospital bedthat I really understood my mom.

You come from a long line of women who desperately wanted to be mothers. The West Texas women on your grandmas side were strong, but all the way back to my great-grandmother, the thing they wanted the most was the most difficult. Both your grandma and my grandma Jenna (for whom Im named) are only childrenand not by choice. My great-grandmother, a woman who could make her own mortar and lay her own brick, buried at least two babies in the deserts of El Paso, both born too soon. And my grandma Jenna laid three babies to rest in Midland, Texas.

Your grandparents, my parents, wanted a full household and tried to have children for many years before putting in an application to adopt. The day they found out they had been accepted by the adoption agency was the day they found out they were pregnant with your aunt Barbara and me. Later, when I was a teenager, your Grammee gave me their picture from the adoption form, framed. Doesnt this look like two people who wanted to be parents? she said. Ive kept that picture by my bed, a reminder of their love.

It is a reminder I have never needed; life with our mom was filled with love. After baths every night, hair wet, pajama-clad, we danced around the house to the Pointer Sisters Fire. A conga line of Bush women: the two of us following in our mamas footsteps. We always followed her lead. Your Grammee took us on trips, just the three of us, to see Frida Kahlo and other art exhibits across Texas (long before your grandpa was into art!). She wanted us to see the beauty in the world.

Now people will say, You remind me so much of your mom! and I thank them. It is the best compliment. In many ways, I am like her: our voices ring with the same Texas twang; we have similar cheekbones; we were both teachers and love to read. But in many ways, I am just trying to keep up with her.

It is my mama who taught me how to be a mom, but it is you, my darlings, who are teaching me what it means to be a mom. When I hold you at night, singing the same songs your Grammee sang to me, I am filled with unconditional love. It is a new feeling, but one I know my parents always felt for Barbara and me. When I am traveling for work, I scroll through pictures of you on my phone, longing to be back home.

Your Grammee prepared me for the anxiety and guilt that come with motherhood. She said recently, All we know we have is now, so worry less and enjoy life with those babies.

So I do that now. And I think about my strong mama and my grandmasthe women who came beforeand Im so grateful you are mine.

Just like those moments dancing years ago, feet in rhythm to my mamas step, I am following her lead again. And I am dancing with the two of you as often as I can.

Love,

Mama

I wrote this letter to my girls when they were babies, and I also ended the last book I wrote, Sisters First, by saying I would never tire of hearing the word Mama. At the time, I believed that with all that I am. Whenever Mila, then four years old, held my hand and gazed up at me, uttering, Mama, I felt a surge of pure love. Every time my puppy-eyed baby Poppy said the wordafter, of course, the easier-to-say Dadamy heart soared.

And yet, after the haze and euphoria of holding my beautiful babies in my arms faded, I wasnt entirely prepared for the mundane moments of parenthood: the maddening tasks, the arguing, the negotiating over food and frocks. Now, two years later, I can name the exact moment when the word