My dear girl,
Oh what a year this has been.
You started the year wearing diapers. Waking each morning to peer through the slats of your crib at yellow walls, adorned with monkeys, in the only bedroom you’ve ever known. You spent lovely days with your nanny and the one friend you’ve known for your whole life. Lazy mornings and cozy afternoons spent dancing around our dining room, picnic lunches at the park, outings to storytime.
Our weekends were blissful. So much so that they became the highlight of your week. You, me, Daddy. The three of us at the park, at the museum, even at the grocery store, we went together. Just us three.
And you and me. When we could be, we were inseparable. We greeted the day together each morning and I was there to tuck you in each night. I held your hand and we walked into dance class together. We cooked dinner side-by-side each afternoon. Your world began and ended with me and, my girl, mine began and ended with you.
It was a beautiful time, my love. Sweet. Simple. I loved every minute of it.
But oh how things have changed.
Today you no longer toddle around in diapers. You proudly go potty all on your own. At night you climb into your big girl bed, surrounded by purple walls in a shade you picked out, in a new room, in a new house. Your lazy days are gone now in favor of quick mornings that lead into long afternoons at school. You share your days with dozens of friends and teachers, following the schedule, submitting to the routine of class and work. Field trips and assemblies and art projects.
Our weekends are still blissful. Still the highlight of your week. But even they have changed. No longer just the three of us, we have one more to add to our crew. One more to get ready before we leave the house. One more with extra things that must be carried.
And you and me. This is the part that hurts the most. We have changed. Sometimes, these days, we must separate. More often than I’d like. More often than I like to admit. I’m not always the one to greet you in the morning. I rarely tuck you in at night. You march off to dance class all on your own while I sit outside and peer through the window. At any given moment on any given day, you have to share me now. Find other people or activities to occupy your afternoons while my hands are full. And I have to share you. You skip off to school, to the people and experiences that will shape your day, and I drive away. Missing you.
Your world is bigger now. And mine is too.
I miss our simple days. I miss the you and me. A small part of me mourns our sweet, little life. Tears fall for the days we’ve known for almost three years.
But, my love, this is life. So many seasons and they do change. No one season lasts forever and we’d be just as sad if they did.
So I’m taking a deep breath now and I’m looking up. At my big girl. A girl who loves school and her big girl bed and her big purple room in her new house. A big sister who proudly shows off her big brother and smothers him with kisses and hugs. My girl, you are handling these transitions with admirable grace.
As this year slows to a close, we’ll settle into a new season. A new routine. A new everyday. You and I will find each other again. We’ll find our you and me. And we’ll find our us and him. We’ll make our new life. And, I know, it will be just as sweet.
All my love,