Background: I joined the most wonderful women's photography forum a few months ago and a number of us ladies are starting a "Letters to Our Daughters" series. Each month, I will post a letter to Eva and then I will link to another mom's blog with her own letter. This blog has always been, in essence, a running diary of Eva with some politics and religion and random other stuff thrown in; I am so excited at the chance to sit down each month and really think through all the things I want to say to her as she grows.
So, to my letter.
My wonderful and spunky little girl, in less than three week from today, you will be in Kindergarten. I'm not sure how we arrived here, it feels like only yesterday we were having your one year photos taken and ohhhing and ahhhing over your ability to take a single step. And now, well, you don’t really walk, you run. Everywhere. Through the house, down the halls at preschool, at the park. You’re so full of life that it seeps out in everything you do; sometimes I join you in your playfulness… and sometimes I long for a 5 minute break and a glass of wine. But no matter what my energy level, you’re always there, reminding me of the amazing gift that being your mommy is. Even on my worst day - and I’m blessed that they are few and far between - you are there with that perfect little face of yours, complete with button nose and minx grin, looking up at me, silently whispering with your eyes so blue that no problem in this world is ever more pressing than being with you.
The older you get, the more I hope you realize that even when I seem at my wits end, it’s never because of you. It is because of you that I get up in the morning with a sense of purpose, that I smile and laugh more times throughout the day then I can count, that I know my life has purpose and meaning and that even if no one else cares where I am or what I am doing, you care.
Last night, after riding your new big girl bike and playing at the park until almost dark, you stopped running, for just a moment and let me capture a memory. So thank you. Thank you for slowing down so your old mom could remember your golden ringlets in the late summer sun. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you, most of all, for letting me love you every single second of every day.
Until next month my sweetie.