To My Daughter, on Your 3rd Birthday

Three years. Can it possibly be true? Have you really been here with us for three whole years already? Was it really three years ago today that my heart felt whole at the sight of you, the smell of you, the sound of your beautiful cry, the feel of your tiny body held tight to my chest? Was it really three years ago today that my heart just as quickly broke again knowing that a piece itself was no longer safely cocooned within the confines of me?

Three years. One thousand ninety four days. Twenty six thousand two hundred and fifty six hours. An impossibly long time. But as much as my mind can’t quite grasp that number, you with your impossibly clever mind and your impossibly tall and ever-growing body, so vastly different yet completely reminiscent of that tiny squalling baby of three year ago, you are the proof of time’s passage.

Three years. As we went through the motions of our day, I couldn’t help but look at the clock and recollect what we had been doing three years ago that moment. My water broke right about now. We were scarfing down Burger King before heading to the hospital right about now. They started pitocin right around now. The pain started to get pretty bad right about now. I couldn’t stand it any more right about now. I laid eyes on you for the very first time right about now. And from there, our lives were forever changed for the better. The world seemed to become a happier and more hopeful place for having you in it. The universe somehow more…right.

Three years. Your dad and I reminisced tonight about that first sleepless night with you. Sleepless because you arrived so late in the evening that after all the hubbub died down, it was well past bedtime for us all. Sleepless because your every movement, every whimper, every cry pierced me to my very core. Sleepless because even while you rested quietly, I was afraid to let my guard down because I knew you might need us at any moment. Sleepless because I could not pull my eyes away from you and because I wanted to hold your delicate little body close to me forever. As I held you this evening in our nightly cuddle before bedtime, I felt your legs drape far over my lap, and your head resting comfortably above my shoulder. I wondered how it was that three years later, it still felt like you fit into my arms perfectly. You and I talked quietly about your day, about birthdays, about cake and candles. You reminded me that you had to turn the cake plate at your party so that you could get close enough to the candle to blow it out. I told you that I thought that was a very clever move rather than blowing hard over the entire cake to reach the candle on the other side. Then we both grew quiet and in an unusual move, you turned your head and body so that you could look straight at me. Your thumb positioned comfortably in your mouth. Your pinkie tracing my nose and cheek. Your eyes searching my face. I smiled and watched you for a long time, marveling that for you, my face can bring comfort and reassurance the same way my own mom’s familiar lines do for me. And as it always has, I was caught off guard by the fact that I’m someone’s mama. Your mama. And the weight of that role felt strangely terrifying and comfortable all at the same time.

Three years. I wish I could explain it, that feeling I get when I see you, when I think of you. It’s the same feeling I got in that moment when I first realized I was pregnant. It’s the same feeling I got when I first saw you. It’s the same feeling I still get every day when we play, and talk, and laugh. It catches in my throat. It fills my chest until I feel like I might never be able to draw another breath. And then the pressure releases in a flood of happiness, of love. I will never get used to it, and I will never tire of it.

Three years. This most recent year has been amazing for you. You’ve grown dramatically, and you look like such a big girl now. You’re simply beautiful in your generous heart; your witty, charming personality; and your lovely smile. Even your saddest faces are somehow crushingly beautiful. You have continued to learn so much, to demonstrate an amazing faculty with language, to show a love of books that rivals my own, to rise to the new challenge of learning numbers in addition to letters. You’ve coped with losing a best friend and a close auntie and uncle to a move. You’ve charmed new friends, family, and total strangers alike over the year. You traveled all over the country like an old pro. You danced your heart out at a wedding. You were the source of my strength at my brother’s funeral. You’ve endured the bumps and bruises of bravely trying out your new-found physical abilities. You’ve learned to pedal a tricycle. You’ve learned that the Madeline cookies at Starbuck’s are really good, and you’ve learned the joy of collecting a substantial Halloween stash. Your imagination has blossomed, and you’ve learned how fun it is to pretend to be different people and to do different things. Every day you’ve wanted to learn, and more and more you beg me to teach you all kinds of new things. You’ve laughed hard, and you’ve cried hard. You’ve endured good days and bad, and you’ve been resilient and strong throughout.

Three years. I’m certain that soon I’ll find myself writing on the occasion of your fourth birthday, and tenth birthday, and sweet sixteenth birthday. I’ll wonder how it went by so quickly, how you grew up so fast. But I plan to savor the time we have, and I can’t wait to see what these next years will hold for you. Thank you for three precious years of joy, laughter, tears, heartache, and love like I’ve never known before.

My love forever and always,
Mama

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