Suburban Snapshots


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Hey Kiddo,

I'm right out here on the couch waiting to be sure you're asleep before I sneak down to the basement and bring up the little kitchen set we bought you for your birthday. While you dream about Dorothy and Toto and cupcakes, I'll be wiping down the three wooden pieces and neatly putting all the accessories inside, watching as your toys continue to turn my living room into a day care center.

Tomorrow you'll be three, though the date is a mere formality. You've been as smart, fresh, and tall as a preschooler for months now. You're still a lanky little thing, all kneecaps and angles, except your cheeks which are the only parts that don't jab and nudge me in the mornings when you squeeze into our bed. I still love pressing my nose against your face, but honestly baby, I look forward to whatever age it is when you'll want to snuggle just a little bit later in the morning.

You've got a pretty sizable fan club for a girl your age, especially considering your lack of any marketable skills. You are so beautiful that despite seeing you every day I still have moments of total amazement that you're mine. You get your sense of humor from both your dad and me, but I'm pretty sure your smart mouth comes entirely from him; you're going to get the hang of sarcasm any day now. You've got attitude like a girl four times your age, stomping dramatically out of a room with perfect timing and rhythm, slamming doors with an exasperated sigh. I envy your courage (though holy cow can an insect send you shrieking), and your total lack of grace reminds me that you have more of my DNA than what showed up in your face.

With you these last three years I've laughed breathlessly, silently, more than in my 34 years before, and I've yelled in frustration so loudly I've startled myself. Sometimes I need to get away from you, most  days I'm not even sure where I end and you begin.

Little Bean, I know I tell you a similar version of all these things each year, but it can't hurt to say over and over how much I love you and how despite the nine months I spent being utterly panic stricken over having to raise another human who I never actually invited into my womb to begin with by the way, you and me, well, we're both doing alright.

Happy birthday, my beautiful girl.

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