Three: A Letter to My Daughter on Her Birthday

Every year I try to write my kids a letter to my daughter on her birthday, something to look back on later, since I know these fast, fleeting years won’t stay fully intact in my memory otherwise. Watching Scarlet turn three while Desmond was still so new made this one hit differently, that strange mix of grief and pride that comes with realizing your child is growing into someone all their own, even as you’re mourning the version of them you’re leaving behind.

Three: A Letter to My Daughter on Her Birthday

At one, you were almost comically adorable:

At two, you were emerging:

And now, at three, you are devastatingly gorgeous and hilarious and deep:

Last night, I sneaked into your room and watched you sleep. I sat for awhile and mourned the loss of our life together, you and me. How quickly it changed. What I wouldn’t give to spend a whole day with you, just you, again. I feel like it’s over a year away, but perhaps we can get creative with Desmond’s feeding and can make that happen sooner. How huge you looked in your crib last night. And yes, you’re still in a crib. I don’t know that it’s never occurred to you to try to climb out. It’s just not the way you work. You accept saying goodbye and you accept saying hello to new changes. I know we could put you in a big kid bed and you’d adjust in oh…say…ten seconds. We’re the ones dragging our feet here. Not you. Never you.

There are so many parts of you that are so me. And so many parts of you that are so your father. You are a walking history of the best parts of us and the best parts of our past generations. And of course, you are totally your own person with new parts to pass along to new generations. I love seeing it all unfold. The way you love science fiction and monster movies. And sour candy. Mismatched socks. Shoes. M&Ms. And swinging. Animals. And your baby brother.

For weeks now, you’ve felt slightly out of my reach. Like you haven’t been mine, for any good length of time. Always slipping through my fingers as I tend to your new little brother or my own grief and pain at this stressful time that surrounds me. And the days slip through my fingers as well. It’s only such a horrifying thought because I am SO PROUD that you are mine. You light up the world of everyone around you but only two people in this world can call you their own.

And we are so lucky. Happy Birthday.