These small, "in-between" days are the ones I sometimes forget or run out of time to write about. It's not a holiday, or a birthday, or a milestone. It's another day in a line of days that sometimes melt together, since they are often very similar to one another. This oddly interminable pandemic time passes in its own fashion - simultaneously at lightspeed while also at a snail's stodgy pace. And yet... you are growing and maturing so much. I think I get caught up staring so closely at things that I forget to take a step backwards and look at the whole of you.
Your confidence is shining bright these days, love. Your joy is catching. It's silly, but your face has grown into your new adult front teeth and you are so unquestionably stunning.
I was so struck the other night, when I was in your room to sing songs and wish you goodnight. I got such a strong sense of YOU; your heart and your spirit. You are formed. You are preciously and uniquely yourself, and adult E is already there in your heart, growing and learning, but present all the same. It's never been more clear to me that Mom and I are merely your guides.
Now that you are eight and in third grade and have your own room, we are seeing more and more of your choices and preferences coming out. Your nightstand is a carefully cultivated space of intention. I love looking at your nightstand. And your bookshelves. Knowing that you've chosen the things and you've chosen the way that they are arranged is a small but amazing joy I'm finding for the first time. Your alarm clock. Your lamp with the rope and the pink sea glass. Your little woven runner - where did this even come from? Your horse figurines. Bookmarks. A pair of fashion glasses. A stack of carefully piled books. A plush shark toy.
Darling girl. My greatest hopes for you are that you dance along this bright path all your days, with your chin to the sunshine and an ocean breeze playing through your curls. You are loved. You are cherished. You are deserving of all the joy you can find.
Love always,
Mama
Mama
