Dear Goosie,
I always get anxious the night before yours or your sisters’ birthdays just like I do on New Year’s Eve. It makes me jittery to know that never again will I see my little girl at the age she is about to leave behind. Obviously this is silly, but Mamas are allowed to be silly when it comes to their kids.
Perhaps it is because as of thus far your pregnancy was the only one that ended in spontaneous labor, but every time May 6th rolls around, I am brought back in time to May 6, 2011. The last day before I met you. I didn’t know I was going to have you the next day. All of the signs were there, but we were still a few weeks away from your due date, so I ignored those signs.
I remember when my water broke letting me know that yes, you were indeed coming. I looked over at your daddy and said that it felt like you have given me a big kick and kicked open the water bag trying to get out into this world. After having known you for the past three years, I have absolutely no doubt that this is true.
I think I say the same thing about all of you every year, but I think that this year was my favorite age with you. You started out the year a little bundle of passion, determined to experience everything this world has to offer you, and you ended this year a little bundle of passion, determined to experience everything this world has to offer you. But there is a noticeable difference. Your eyes always allowed me to see into your soul, but now your words allow me to see into your mind.
These are some of my favorite pictures of you. Which is good because I have a lot of them. Ever since you had the motor skills to do so, you would insist on smelling things. At first it was always my shirt. And then it was my arm. Then you began to add in your shirt and your arm. Now your favorites are either your blankie or my sweater. Usually we sit through church with you on my lap and my cardigan wrapped all around you, covering your nose. But whatever the fabric, through a large portion of the day, you have something in front of your nose.
It’s weird, my dear. You look rather silly walking around huffing your own arm. But it’s you. I always assumed it was partially because you wouldn’t take a pacifier as a baby. You needed something to calm you down. But I think it’s also part of your personality. I think when you dive into the world head first, you need a little place to keep to yourself, a place to retreat to. And I think this gives you that. It blocks out some of the senses, allowing you to sit in peace.
One of the reasons I love these pictures though is because they show me your eyes. Your fire eyes. Your eyes that continue dancing even when the rest of you relaxes. The eyes that remind us that “though she be but little, she be fierce.”
But these pictures also remind me of how far you have come in the past year. Now if you can’t find your blankie, you will actually tell me, “I need something to smell.” And yea, that’s an odd sentence to hear, but I love hearing you say it. You overpronounce words in the most adorable manner, but you are able to so clearly articulate your wants and needs at this time – even if those needs are something to sniff.
I guess it’s the English teacher in me. When other people marvel at first steps and whatnot, I marvel at the correct use of compound sentences and prepositional phrases. And you have mastered both. I cheer a little inside my head each day as I hear new phrases and structures and intentions spilling out of your mouth.
But as I sit here and try to write this letter, I realize that you are so perfectly you that I can’t quite find the words to even describe you. When I think of you, I think of the line Chandler says to Monica in Friends, “Yes, you are high maintenance, but I like to think that I am the best at maintaining you.”
And so, since words elude me at this moment, I will just tell you that in this upcoming year as we brave the “threenager” year together, I wish for you
- continued passion. Never lose it, my love. It makes life harder to live, but it also makes it infinitely more beautiful.
- continued courage. You have a lot of new experiences coming up, and by and large, this world is still very new to you. Jump in head first. Check for safety, and then go for it. Don’t let fear hold you back.
- keep your heart open. Right now, your little heart is like a raw vessel living just outside your chest. You are open to the world. You are vulnerable. Perhaps not everyone sees it because you are busy ruling your little world. People overlook your vulnerability. Your sensitivity is unexpected. You don’t cry at slights. You move on from harsh words without blinking. But the stains are left on your soul. I see them. I see them when you shut down after a hard day. I see it when conflict sends you to your blankie. I see it when there is so very much going on outside, that you need to lay on my lap with my sweater around us both and close your eyes, resting your head against my chest. This sensitivity is a blessing, my child. You are much too young to understand this at this moment, but I hope one day you will read this and understand when I say to you not to let the words and thoughts and opinions and intonations of others hurt you. You are free. You are spirited. Some people won’t like this. That doesn’t matter. Who you are is what matters. If you are acting with compassion and dignity and integrity, the rest is all up to you.
- keep coming back. You were born a mama’s girl and to this day, you still are a mama’s girl. I like that. Sometimes we have bad days. Sometimes you don’t listen, and sometimes I’m too impatient. Whatever the case, whatever the cause, keep coming back. I will keep coming back as well. My arms will always be open.
I am proud of you, my dear.
When I look at you, I see parts of me. I see parts of me that sometimes brought me pain — I see the vulnerability and the passion and the rawness. But when I see it in you, I don’t regret it. When I see it in you, I find it precious. I find it remarkable. I see that it can hurt you. I know that at times it probably will hurt you. I know you will want to shut it off. I know you will look at others who don’t appear to be quite so raw and you will envy them. You will envy their cool and their calm and their composure. You will wonder why you weren’t built that way.
And the answer is because you were built by me. By me and your father and your Heavenly Father. And your Heavenly Father likes building you with traits of those who came before you. Children who spring forth from me probably were never destined to be the cool head in the storm. And that’s fine. The world has plenty of cool heads. It needs its raw, courageous hearts as well.
Throughout life I have learned that our greatest strengths come from our greatest pains. Like a stream through a canyon, our traits carve out of us beauty. They take the raw ingredients we were born with and they turn us into masterpieces perfected through strife and trial and tumult.
When we act with compassion it is because we once sought it. When we experience empathy it’s because we once were hurt. When we celebrate triumph it’s because we too have fought the battles.
I guess what I’m trying to tell you, Goosie, is that life is big and vast and expansive, and you are but a little piece of it. Protect that piece. Protect that heart. Keep it raw. Keep it vulnerable. Keep it open.
Be you. The you who was wonderfully made. The you who is perfectly who you were intended to be. The you who insists on “really really big hugs” and insists on tickled feet and insists on being folded practically in half under a blanket so she can “cuddle you.”
Be the little girl who runs to the door to greet “Dadd-O.” Be the you who jumps up and down and throws her arms in the air and yells “my birfday!” when I ask her who is turning three. Be the spunk that seems to glide across the floor in the Merida dress that is two sizes two big and that you insist on wearing every. single. day.
And be the you who screams “Let it go, let it go, don’t hold it back anymore.” And live those lyrics, my dear. Live loud and out loud and with passion and with abandon.
And know that no matter where your roads take you and your roads drift off I will be there. With my pom poms and my warm hugs, ready to greet you and comfort you and appreciate you and praise you.
You are a marvel. And I am proud to have front row seats as you grow into the wonder you are meant to become.
I love you, my dear. Here is to year three.
.