I don’t know how you do it. You’ve done it every day for the past four years. You become more…you. More of this spectacular little person who amazes me more and more and even more than that makes me look over at the person next to me and mouth, “Did she really say that?”
Right now you are every bit a little girl. You are every bit the little girl that I never was, playing with princess tiaras and dressup gowns where I played with sticks and mud. You like rocks, though, and we count EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Of your 32 rocks every night before bed.
You’ve really gotten into the whole concept of school this year. Going to school, being a part of your class, having friends. You come home every day with a new story to tell, a new song to sing, and when we ask you if you got in trouble or if you had to sit in the “blue chair” (something that is apparently a terrible punishment), you immediately change the subject, like, “Look, Mom, did you know I have toes? Isn’t that amazing? And wait, wait, I think Max may be dying his hair pink. He’s definitely rebelling. You should take care of that. Yep. Nothing to see here.”
We were in the store not too long ago and there was a little girl in the jewelry section getting her ears pierced. You were very interested, and asked all kinds of questions. I dismissed it at first and just answered your questions with, “That’s for big girls.”
But then I realized that you ARE a big girl. You’re at the age where you’re big enough to decide for yourself about a lot of things. As you would say, “I’m big, Mom, I’m four. And I’m pretty.”
Am I ready for that? I’m not really sure. But you’re there. You’re bigger every day, and YOU are certainly ready. You’ve twirled your way on your ballerina toes and – almost without us noticing – you’ve gone from that fuzzy headed, purple binkied baby to a certain, sure, beautiful little girl.
And I’ve never been so proud of anything or anyone.
I love you.