A letter to my daughter

Dearest Lola,

Today is your fourth birthday. Every morning you tip toe across our upstairs hallway and wake me up with a kiss on the cheek. And every morning I act as surprised as the last. Today was no different.

I am so in love with you. It is intoxicating. Not a day goes by that I don’t look into your hazel eyes and loose myself in your world. Your world is bright purple, full of princesses and wishes, and graceful butterflies. When you dance, you are lost in your world, for you never spot and always dramatically end up on your poopcha. "I am clumsy, right?" Yes, sweet Lola. You are clumsy.

I am happy to report that in the last 12 months you have had only one major accident requiring an ER visit. The year before last you had one broken leg, three stitches in your forehead, a visit to the burn unit for your palm, and countless other ER visits for your holding breath syndrome. Perhaps this is a sign that you are getting less clumsy. "I am soooo clumsy!" You cry out each time you walk into a door.

You love "baking" with me and are angry if I begin to make dinner without your guidance. You run and grab the kitchen stool and sit by my side measuring out the ingredients, pouring, and mixing. I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you by my side. You have memorized how to make French toast, scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, chicken Kiev, stuffed cabbage, mashed potatoes, carrot coleslaw, lasagna, just to name a few. You can perfectly crack an egg, gracefully wipe your apron, and whisper loudly "I am a good baker, Mama!"

This last year has shown me how much of a hard worker you are. My vacuum can not keep up with all of your arts and crafts and our playroom carpet is always filled with construction paper. Everyday you sit at the craft table to cut, paste, cut, and color "invitations to a princess ball" for your friends. You are enrolled in two different preschools on alternating days and never seem to forget what day it is and what school you visit. Each day, after pick-up, you arrive with a handful of projects. Every other child has one. You greet me with a handful. "Look at ALL the projects I made today, Mama!" At least I know we are getting our moneys worth.

Yesterday, a package arrived clearly labeled for you. I suggested we wait to open it on your actual birthday. "NO! It belongs to me. It says MY name. I decide." I pick my battles with you. Enough said. "You know, Lola, when you turn four you can not be so bossy and whinny anymore." That, my girlfriend, is something we need to work on for this upcoming year. Your third year was full of dramatic tears, full blown kicking tantrums, lots of verbal "poopie head" blows, incredible amounts of whine, and early bedtimes in which you cried yourself to sleep.

Last night, I sang my goodnight song to you while stroking your blond hair and told you "This is the last time I will be kissing a three year old Lola." You saw the tears in my eye and quickly solved the problem, "But tomorrow, you will kiss a FOUR YEAR OLD Lola!!!" You squealed with delight "I’am sooooooooo excited to be four. I have always WANTED to be four." Sweet girlfriend of mine, may you always be so energetic, so loving, so passionate, so strong, so hard working, so confident. I am so in love with you. It is intoxicating.

Love,
Your sweet little mousie Mama

PS. I know I tell you every night, but here it is again…. "I am so happy to be your mommy!"

Private letter. Comments closed. MWAH for understanding.