You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.
And today, my beautiful daughter, you are illuminating the skies of life as you glow at high noon — halfway between the dawn and dusk of your childhood.
You are turning nine, which in turn leaves only nine years to go. Then our 7-pound, 12-ounce bundle of joy becomes an all-grown-up bundle of adult. So here we are, smack in the middle of you being a kid. Such an AWESOME kid. And I have been afforded the gigantic pleasure of holding onto every little moment with you. Holding you in the wee hours of those sacred, sleepless nights. Holding your trustful hand as we cross the grocery store parking lot. Holding back tears as you skipped off to kindergarten. Holding onto your thoughtfully scribbled “I love you” notes and carefully picked weed-flowers. Holding you steady as you put on your first pair of roller skates. Holding onto every word of your bedtime prayers. Holding on as tight as possible… each day since that October morning nine years ago.
That’s how the first half goes. A lot of holding (and guiding and learning and playing and imagining and chubby cheek cuteness). Conversely, this second half is going to force me to loosen my grip a bit as we get you ready to fly.
And I don’t want to be sad about it, even though I am sad about it. There is no denying I miss every version of you that has already come and gone. It is one of the painful parts of being a momma. But the amazing human you are becoming before my very eyes… well, I cannot stop staring. I am genuinely excited for what lies ahead. Sweet girl, this world awaits you, and this world so desperately needs you.
First thing’s first — let’s adventure through these next nine years. They are sure to be weird and busy and transformative and full of immature, memory-making fun. There will be slumber parties and science projects, preadolescence and puberty, phones and friendships, homework and Homecoming dances, driving and dating, part-time jobs and picking a college… all the rites of passage that round out a childhood. You will eventually realize (if you haven’t already) your mom is in fact not the coolest and most brilliant person on the planet, and so help me if I even think about embarrassing you by, I dunno, merely inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide.
I get it. I’ve been there. And knowing now the smorgasbord of what I did not know then, allow me to sprinkle some simple truths atop your birthday cake.
~Love God, love people. Period.
~Faces are more important than phones. Look up.
~Besties bring out the best in you. Find some and KEEP THEM.
~Wear the makeup, but remember your pretty is inside of you.
~Laugh, laugh, laugh.
~It’s ok to say no. It can be quite brave, actually.
~You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Refuse to believe any different.
Baby girl, it’s a better place since you came along. Thank you for these first nine years. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.