Behind the 8-Ball

Dear LMNOB,


You turned 7 over a week ago.

I don't know how that is possible, seeing how a blink ago you were 9 months old, dolled up for your first Christmas:

And I have yet to write you a letter for your birthday.

But, I made you heart-shaped grilled cheese and tomato soup for Valentine's Day, and threw you a party that you said was "The BEST birthday, E.V.E.R! Mama!!!!" so hey, I think it is ok, right? You're a good girl like that, cutting Mama some slack.

Honey, this past year was a wild and crazy ride, and really, isn't that what life is? I see no evidence that this ride is gonna be letting up anytime soon. Like I always say in the car, "You better buckle up Buttercup," life's just getting bumpy.


Last spring was what I like to call "The beginning of the rest of your life." I know you are sensitive about being different, and Baby Doll, I just have to say that I'm so glad that people know about your kind of different because it has changed our lives. For the better.


You are blossoming so much, my little lady.


Socially, you're branching out. Having those first awkward moments with boys - which by the way, ought to stay awkward for a good long while just yet, for like, 20 more years, ok? Getting invited to parties, called out in the grocery stores, and just plain being acknowledged for the fabulously spunky little gal that you are. It's building your confidence, too. And I'm glad. I hope you always know, without a doubt that you are special just the way you are.


And actual growth? Dang girl, you've got legs. ZZ Top is gonna make a comeback just for you, kiddo. Where'd you get those things, anyway? Certainly not from me, or your father for that matter.

Your academic development astounds me. Last year at this time you read a word here and there. Now? You're reading my childhood classics, and some newbies as well. I'm loving this literary trip down memory lane, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading. It will take you far. Spelling, art, and science are your other favorites at school, and you are quite good at them, too. For whatever reason, gender biases be damned, you're not too keen on math. Oh, you've got all the abilities necessary, dear, for when you sit and actually take the time you ace through your math exercises. But you've gotten it into your pretty little blonde head that you're no good at math - stop that, alright?!? I think that you're a bit like me, and because math doesn't come to you with your eyes closed, like reading, that you grow impatient with it. You'll get there, trust me. Just keep working at it, babe.

Emotionally, you're my little wise one. And you know it, too, which makes you a consummate big sister (read: bossy little girl). That just makes me love you more, because I once knew a bossy little girl who also was an older sister ;o) . But when you're not trying to advance your unsolicited advice to others, you're listening, thinking, absorbing what's going on around you. And when I least expect it, your take on these happenings comes out via your artwork, writing, or conversations...these translations of your realities are surprisingly profound, usually have a spiritual tie-in of sorts, and make me so proud of the thoughtful person you are.

You're dabbling in new hobbies, from swimming to karaoke to riding without training wheels, and it's exciting to watch you discover new capabilities, likes, and dislikes. I know that I need to embrace that now, while it is fresh to me, for the years of constant experimentation (tweens/teens) loom in the not-so-distant future.

Last week, despite being so craptastically ill, I was thrilled to hold you, feel your heavy body on my lap while I breathed in your apple-shampooed hair, reading to you, and comfort you with the relief that Tylenol and Motrin can't hold a candle to: that feeling of closeness that will make you audibly call for me some day when you're sick, but grown and living somewhere else. You might laugh to think of yourself calling for Mommy as an adult, but you will, whether you're down with a flu bug or in the throes of childbirth, you will. For now, I take solace in that you are still a small, albeit ever-growing child, and that I can comfort you with ease.

I love you so much, LMNOB. I wish you a very lucky number seven this year.

Love,

Mama

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved