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I look at you, Adela, and I am blown away. Did you really used to live inside of me? Were you really a helpless baby? Did I really wait for you to reward me with your first smile? Did I listen patiently for your first word? Did I used to wonder what kind of little girl you would become? And here you are.
You are almost 5. Well, I won’t even say that. Let me hold on to 4 for the few months we have left. You are 4 and three quarters. And you are amazing. You are so beautiful. So kind. Thoughtful. Silly. Compassionate. Inquisitive. Empathetic. You are YOU.
You still say “us” where there should be “we” and “them” where there should be “they.” You think wiggling your butt is hilarious. You still can’t remember that dinner is the meal that happens at night, and breakfast in the morning and lunch in the middle. We’ve about given up on that one. Speaking of meals, you can take hours to eat one. “Take a bite, Adela,” is something I say more times than I care to count in a day. The order of breakfast, lunch and dinner still mystifies you. You have learned to color inside the lines and still love your Disney princesses and hosting pretend birthday parties. You can ask the same question dozens of times without becoming in the least bit phased. You argue and bargain. You explain and justify things and you do it with a sweet attitude that is difficult to combat. You share your toys with your brother without hesitation, and help me pick up after him without complaint. You look out for him always. You love telling him what to do and tattle on him too. You are often questioning but almost never rebellious, and never mean. Your ears don’t always work, but your heart always does. You have a good heart. It wants to do right and is sorry when you don’t. You smile easily, and laugh whenever you’re given a reason. You have your quiet side too. And you can be very bossy. You’re like a little director, telling everyone how it needs to be and what they need to do.
You’re a bit of a daredevil, so brave, afraid of almost nothing. You have no social anxiety that I can see, easily assimilating into any group. You love going to the gym, going to preschool, going to lessons, going to Cubbies. But you are a little afraid of failure, of not being perfect. You want to be great at everything you try. You’re hard on yourself. You cry easily, but you get over things easily too.
Listening to you pray before bed is one of my favorite parts of every day. If it was a practical thing to do, I’d want to videotape every single prayer. You define sweet. It’s a word that most people who have been around you use to describe you. And I get why. You’re still my little rainbow, bringing vibrancy and color to the world wherever you go. The world is a sweeter place with you in it. No doubt.
I still wonder who you will be. There are so many more surprises and milestones to look forward to. And I do. I look forward to every age, every new chapter. Because you, my silly willy, have taught me that every age is wonderful. Yes, I miss your baby days. But not as much as I look forward to tomorrow, and next month, and next year, and your preteen years, and your teen years, and getting past the hard times, and eventually getting to be your (hopefully) wise old mom who is also your friend when you’re all grown up.
You are realized. I know you now. But you are still possibilities. Every single part of you that I know, I love. Every single part of you that is yet to be, I anticipate.
One thing is certain. I had no idea. I had no idea the challenges and the rewards of being a Mom. You have taught me. You will continue to teach me. And you are the best little teacher. I love you, big girl.
Happy first day of the 2nd year of Preschool.
