Happy Birthday, Princess

Today, you are seven years old. Seven years ago at this time, I was sitting at my desk at work feeling miserable, trying desperately to get an earlier appointment than the one I had scheduled for after lunch that day. I went to that appointment eventually and the doctor I saw blew off my concerns when I said I was really uncomfortable and not feeling so good – said to me, “Ma’am: You’re just tired of being pregnant and you’re complaining. But here, I’ll write you a note excusing you from work for the duration of your pregnancy.”

I got in my car and less than 15 minutes down the road, my water broke. And a few hours later, you were born.

My first thoughts when they placed you in my arms were, “Oh, this is my baby!” and “Oh! Her head is really cone-y. I hope that doesn’t stay that way.” Within hours, your melon was less cone-like and more the beautiful round perfect little noggin that I look at daily. Whew. (Seriously, why was I not expecting the conehead? I think pregnancy literature downplayed that little tidbit).

I can’t believe you are seven. The other day when I said to you, “You are SO old!”, your reply was, “Not compared to you, I’m not.” Smarty-butt.

You never fail to amaze me, by the way. I often forget that you are still a kid because you have this amazing grasp for words and putting them together and you just don’t express yourself like a kid. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that you’re a kid – because I adjust my expectations of you to the way you usually behave – and then when you have an age appropriate meltdown, I have to tell myself, “That’s what KIDS do.”

You write awesome stories – and you use punctuation correctly. It may sound like I’m grasping at straws for praise for you – but I tell you: This is the most exciting thing for me, as a writer, to see. That you have the same passion as I do for writing and exercising that creative part of your mind? I couldn’t be happier. You look nothing like me with your blonde hair and blue eyes, and so it’s nice to see that little bits of my genetics snuck in somehow.

You are a good friend to your classmates. You are entertaining. I just got home from dropping off cupcakes at your school and your teacher went ON and ON about some of the things you say – you have a self-assurance and confidence that I hope you keep. I hope you never lose that sense of yourself and that feeling within that tells you that you are awesome.

Princess, I wish nothing but the best things for you in your life. I hope somethings take work – I want you to know that not everything will come easily, and I want you to know what it is to work to achieve your goals. I want you to know always that you are loved, and I want you to always know HOW to love.

I’m so lucky to be your mom – and I love you lots and lots of tater tots.

Love you with my whole heart,
Mom