Eight!

Turning Eight!

Today you turn 8. Eight. EIGHT!

Wow. That was quick. And long, too.

I’m so amazed and proud and a whole-lot awed by the incredible being you are becoming.

You, my love, are funny and fierce and happy and smart and diligent and quirky and forthright and self-righteous and snuggly.

Seven was the year when Katy Perry nudged aside your affections for Optimus Prime, just a little. Last night, you even told me that seeing Katy Perry in concert was the best part of being seven. And that, ever since, “By the Grace of God” is your favorite song.

In 2014, you wore a dress just the one time. (Because you had to – it wasn’t your choice.) You rose to the occasion, donned your fancy tights, sparkly (borrowed) shoes, necklace and shiny headband. And totally rocked the look. The remaining 364 days of being seven, you wore a variety of pants, tops, undershirts, underpants, socks and a fleece in different jaguar and leopard prints. And totally rocked the look.

You’ve spent much of seven researching what breed of dog you want (p.s. it’s Chesapeake Bay Retriever.) You’ve read about how to train a puppy. You are ready for the responsibilities of feeding and walking your next pet. Which you remind us about every day.

You are my “bounce back” girl. One year ago on this very day, you experienced a frightening car crash. More recently, you learned an important lesson in losing. You took both in your stride and I am grateful for such character and resilience. I could learn a load from you.

Recently, you explained to me that you have “grit” – I’m not sure from where or who you learned that phrase – but it made me stop in my tracks. Grit will take you places in life; grit will mean you won’t give up or give in or be bowed by the hard work. Grit will thicken your skin. I love grit.

I am still flabbergasted by your beauty. I try not to tell you that too much as I need you to understand that your beauty really comes from your character and spirit and actions. Not the remarkable shape of your eyes. Or the deep red of your exquisite lips. Or your porcelain skin, accentuated cheekbones and graceful forehead. You remain blissfully unaware of your beauty and it makes you even more beautiful.

Looking ahead: you still want to be a vet when you grow up. You have decided you wish to go to school at either Wellesley College or Boston University. (Our 529 needs more grit.)

Welcome to eight – it’s going to be awesome.

Seven!

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On this day, seven years ago, you arrived – two weeks early. You’ve not been early for anything ever since.

You are my funny girl, my ray of feisty sunshine, my karate ninja, my pop diva.

You know your own mind & I love that.

You can now read (oh the places you will go!)

You are blissfully unaware of your beauty. Your exquisite almond eyes and deep red lips.

You love love love your “rocky” music. And you move like Jagger.

You are my concert companion: first Bruno Mars, then Maroon 5. (Sshhh, there’s more in store this summer!)

Your appetite has grown as your beautiful body (that I made) has lengthened & strengthened. But you still consume food molecule by molecule. Meatballs, Mac & cheese, milk and chocolate rule your world. You are a broccoli machine. But NO SAUCE. Sauce is evil.

Your remain loyal to your main man Optimus Prime, but welcome his pals from Hero Factory, Lego Chima, and Ninjago. And Pokemon, of course.

You still want to be vet when you grow up. Or a pop star. Or a normal person.

You’ve mostly conquered your fear of new toilets.

You still burp like a beer-swilling trucker. (Grown men have been known to snort with laughter upon hearing such sounds emanate from one so small and cute.)

I’m training you to load the dishwasher to my exacting standards (this thrills me!)

You still maintain a freakish mental database of everyone’s ages and birthdays.

Most of all, you love to snuggle and give the tightest hugs!

Happy 7th birthday, my T!

 

Six!

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You’ve always been your own person, jiving to your own beat.

You grab every day with enthusiasm.

You burp like a beer-swilling trucker.

Optimus Prime is still your main man. Followed by Bruno Mars.

You still move at the pace of a snoozing snail.

You live by the rules. Except when you wrestle with your brother.

You love pop music. As long as it’s “rocky.”

When you are angry, you are fierce. (You go girl!)

You still consume your food molecule by molecule.

Your almond eyes and deep red lips surprise me every day (I made such beauty?)

You can laugh at yourself. When you laugh, your voice disappears. It’s very cute.

No juice please, only milk.

Dresses & skirts be gone (but at least you let me braid your hair.)

You want to be a vet when you grow up.

You’ve partially overcome your dislike of spherically shaped foods. Meaning you now eat peas and corn, and you’ll suck on a grape. But blueberries, baby tomatoes? Nope.

You want to be either Captain America or The Hulk for Halloween.

No sauce please, on anything.

You are planning on forming a band. You will be playing bass.

You love to snuggle, you love bedtime, you love to sleep.

You go from tears to giggles at shocking speed.

I can still double bluff you.

You are my superhero.

Happy birthday, T – welcome to six!

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My Daughter the Superhero

This evening, as I kissed you goodnight, I commented on the jammies you were wearing, jammies your brother had outgrown and you claimed for your own. In a hushed, awed whisper you confided, “I’m Bat Girl.”

You’ve always shunned the dolls and princesses for the action figures, the dragonoid colossus, the superheroes. Who knows if nature or nurture is at play, but I believe it’s the very essence of the superhero that inspires you.

I’m hoping you continue to embrace your inner Optimus Prime. I want you to be bold, to take action, to fight for what’s right, to stand up for those in need, to transform the world around you.

Being a superhero is not child’s play; you, my love, my Bat Girl, have the super power to make a difference and I will always be your number one fan.

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