Six already? How can my sweet baby girl be six already? No matter how often I try to grasp the sands of time a little tighter, be more determined to be more intentional, the days just keep running away with my heart.
I’ve started writing these birthday letters to my daughter. I email them to her at an email address that will hold various letters, memories, pictures until she’s an adult. I hope that it will be a precious gift to her someday.
Dear Sweet Girl,
You quietly turned six tonight as I kicked green and orange balloons into your room and wove streamers around your bed as you slept, made a curtain of crepe paper outside your door, hoping this so unPinteresty midnight effort is magical enough to delight you come morning.
I didn’t plan ahead very well because we’ve been traveling, and I’ve been in denial that you’re turning six already! I wish I could extend your precious five year-old days just a bit longer.Not quite a baby, not quite yet grown, but six already? How time has flown! Click To Tweet
Five was a magical year to watch. Your imagination blossomed. I loved watching you twirl around the yard, a butterfly fairy princess one minute, and F5 tornado the next. You spent hours quietly creating mythical lands in our tree beds.
I am awed and moved by your heart for others. You were convicted by a sweet friend with cancer to share your hair with children who have lost theirs.
I was convicted by you.
So we are growing our hair together to donate to Wigs for Kids, (if you’re interested in helping us fund a wig click on this link) and I admire you for not giving up even when your hair is painfully tangled or takes forever to dry. I’m confessing here that I may not make it. I’ve got at least 3-4 more inches and it’s driving me crazy!
At 5 my daughter decided to give her hair away, help us give a wig https://goo.gl/255Ejz Click To Tweet
I meant to make salt dough hand print ornaments while you were five, but my busyness kept me saying next week, until there were no weeks left and you were closer to six than five.
Five was the year you really started to read, devouring books and street signs in equal measure, the world offering up its printed secrets, including you in the literacy club.
Momma, does that say ‘body shop’? (you asked flying down the highway) Yes, yes, it does. What do they do in there? Wash your body? cuz that’d be weird.
You made up words like ‘fantacular’ and ‘hugantic’ and learned to count all the way to 100 without getting distracted at 67.
You lost three teeth! And cheered in the New Year for the first time at midnight.
You’ve tied your own shoes a few times now, but aren’t ready to toss the Velcro sneaks away. You LOVE jokes, but don’t quite understand how to tell them. But half the fun(ny) of your jokes now is just wondering what you’ll say.
You lost your first pets. It broke my heart to watch your mourn these tiny creatures, but I know that you’ll need to build faith and strength for larger losses as much as I wish I could shield you from them.
You are simultaneously so adult and still my baby, mindfully taking communion for the first time one day (You didn’t know to wait and popped the bread in your mouth. When I made you take it out, you said, but MOM, at the last supper, they ate the bread!) and the next believing your tongue is covered by taste bugs. Tonight, you told me that you only say pasketti to be facetious. Oh, the contradictions in your sweet little self.
Not quite my baby, not quite grown, but six already, how time has flown!
This letter has sat half-written for a week now because I can’t quite come to grips with how fast time has gone. I’m trying not to be sad, reminding myself of all the parents wishing they could watch their children grow up.
You feel it, too. Babydom is ending. You’ve asked for my help more often in the past two weeks than the past six months. Mommy, pick me up out of the tub. Carry me to bed. Let me sit in your lap.
And I say YES! because you’re six already . . .
and I’m already struggling under your weight. One day, too soon, I’ll start to scoop you off the couch to whisk you to bed, and won’t be able to lift you.
Needing my own nap yesterday after hours in the sun at the lake, I was so tempted to let you take your own bath, but I wasn’t ready for you to not need my hands in your hair, filling the bathroom with the scent of baby soap, giggling together over your slippery belly bubbles.
You won’t need me this way forever, or even very much longer.
This morning, you Spider Monkey leaped onto my lap, nuzzling my cheek, talking about the wonderful clock tower dream you’d been having. I sat stone-still absorbing your now sixness before you hummingbirded away. These sleepy snuggles are growing more infrequent and more treasured.
I’m doing my best to live in every moment, steep in the richness of your imagination while reality doesn’t dampen even the most outlandish fantasies (you’ve been half-lizard this week).
I may sometimes miss documenting events because I’m enjoying the moment with you, but I hope you know how deeply you are loved. I’m treasuring every step of yours towards adulthood and every second of your childhood.I'm treasuring your every step towards adulthood and every second of your childhood. Click To Tweet
You also love spending time with Daddy, doing daddy things with bugs and dogs and outside fun. Daddy is teaching you to fish and not be squeamish about hunting. You can almost pull back your own pink bow. And I’m glad, though those aren’t my things, because you have a dad that loves you who is sharing special time with you, building character and bravery into you in ways I cannot.
I can’t wait to see what adventures and lessons six has in store.
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