I know you’re still small, that you’re growing into your feet and arms, and long, long legs. I know you don’t have to decide right now who you want to be when you grow up, or what you want to do with your life. Right now I’m spending a lot of time thinking about you when I fall asleep at night, when I wake up in the morning, and when I’m at stoplights.
In fact, I spend almost all of my consciousness thinking about you and your happiness in this life. I worry a lot about making sure you eat the right kinds of foods to make your little bodies strong, and I think a lot about you making friends at school so you’re not alone on the playground. But mostly I think about how I want you to learn how to be good, kind little humans. And no matter what, I want you to learn to be happy. Now, and especially when you grow up. I want you to be whatever you want to be, as long as it makes you feel completely awesome about getting out of bed every day.
Baby Girl, you made me a mother. You created something inside me I didn’t know was possible to feel. You made my heart bloom and swell, and you blow me away every. single. day. I’m fascinated by your complete devotion to cooking, that you’re smarter than I, that you’re an insatiable reader. I love that you think I don’t know how to dress and that you wear exactly what you want. I love every single thing about you all the way down to our identical toes. I think it’s amazing how you understand animals and bake a better cake than me, even on my best day in the kitchen. I love that you’re interested in politics, and world history and travel, and that you’re not afraid of anyone.
I don’t know how you learned to be such an amazing human, but I’m thrilled to have a front row seat, I hope, until you have little people of your own. And I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I’m about to say: I want you to be whatever you want to be when you grow up. Right now you want to be a vet, or a professional musician, or maybe own a bakery. You love kids like crazy and you’re obsessed with babies, but you’re not quite sure how you feel about actually becoming a mom. That’s okay. Whatever you want to do is awesome, because all I want for you in the end to be happy. Really and truly happy.
Little Man, I love everything about you. It blows my mind that you wake up happy every day of the week, all year long. I love that you snuggle me and call me ‘mommy’ when no one is listening. I love the little freckles on your nose, and especially the one on your chin. I think it’s funny that you didn’t talk until you were 2 and that you haven’t stopped talking since. I love listening to your stream of consciousness from the minute you get out of bed in the morning until you fall asleep at night. I don’t know how your little brain works like that, but I’m glad it does. It’s amazing watching you grow and learn how to read and put together complicated math problems. You got that from daddy and my grandpa, it certainly didn’t come from me.
I hope that when you get to be a grown-up you can be a professional Lego builder, tree climber, bicycle rider, skier, jump-roper, construction worker. Probably by then someone will have figured out how to combine all those things into one big job made especially for you. You might not want to live with me when you get older, even though you say you’ll never leave me no matter what. I love you for wanting it, more than you know.
I hope that whatever happens when you grow up, there won’t anyone who tells you it isn’t possible, no matter what it is you’re trying to do. I hope there isn’t anyone in your future telling you to slow down, or stop running, or to stop creating magic, because that’s what you are little man, you’re my little piece of magic. Be happy. Stay happy. If anyone can do it, it’s you.