I Hope

Dear Lainie, 

You're growing up before my very eyes. Growing so fast, and in ways that amaze me and terrify me-something you won't understand until you're a mother yourself. Until you have a baby girl that you're watching sprout like a weed, a little girl that you're watching become more like you every day.

And you are.

More like me every day.

And still somehow your very own person, in every single way.

But when I see myself in you, in the way you crinkle your nose when you laugh, in the way your voice gets deeper when you're being sarcastic, in the way your eyebrows go up the entire time you're telling a story because you're so excited to get to the end, my heart stops in those moments.

I love you so much in those moments.

And I'm so scared in those moments.

Scared that you'll make my mistakes.

Scared that you'll feel the same pains.

That you'll also develop the same scars, as well as the same facial expressions.

Scared that you, like me, will grow up too fast and fall too hard and feel too much.

And at some point you'll be scared to feel anything at all.

And in those moments where my heart stops and time seems to suspend, and a whole world of possible heart aches for you opens up before my eyes, I don't know what I wish I could protect you from and what I don't. Because I don't know which of those hurts and mistakes and heartaches lead me to you, or all the other good things about me, about my life, about our family.

So I guess I just hope that you know a few things I didn't, and you do with those secrets what I couldn't. I hope you know that you're beautiful. Truly. That empathy and compassion is one of the most important qualities a man can have. That bad boys will most likely do what they do best: bad things. And that includes treating you, my sweet girl, badly. I hope you know that at some point you will have to leave a place. Any place. And you will feel unbelievably sad. Not just because you will miss the place, but because you know you will miss the person you were there, the person you are in that exact moment in time. Because sometimes leaving means never going back. I hope you know that if a dress shows your butt when you bend over, it's a shirt, not a dress. I hope you know that coral and melon colors will always look great on you. I hope you know that you're a survivor. You come from a a long line of them and you are one, so don't let anyone tell you that you couldn't make it without them. 

You will always be ok.

You will always be loved.

You will always have a home in me.

You will always, no matter what you do or where you go, be my daughter.

One day you'll realize you're becoming your mother. 

One day you'll see yourself in your own daughter.

I hope you learn from me, and learn from her, and never stop trying to see the best in the most painful situations.

Most of all,

I hope you don't grow up too fast.

Even though I know you will. 

Because we all do.

But I still try to slow it all down whenever I can.

I hope when you grow up you do the same.

I love you.

Almost

My dearest Tiny,

It is a hot day in late May as you and your brother play upstairs, laughing and screeching and pretending you're pirates. I can't help but think to myself how right now, in this moment in time, you are almost a lot of things.

You are almost done with the first grade, and you did an awesome job this year! Being accepted into advanced classes and getting straight A's all year. A little trouble with talking to your friends during class, but hey, that's genetic. Sorry kid.

You are almost 8 years old. Your birthdays seem to come faster every year, and I love watching you grow. But 8 seems so old. Maybe it's because I don't remember feeling like a kid anymore after my 8th birthday, and I am just projecting on you, but maybe it's because I can't believe we've been mother and daughter for 8 freaking years. That is so much time, but I feel like it went too fast! Can we go back to some of the really good parts, and hang out there for a while? Suspended in time, on that afternoon when you were 2, where we played dress up in your room for hours and you fell asleep on my lap. That'd be awesome.

You are almost too old for a lot of things. I don't get bathtime with you anymore. You hardly ever want me to read the story at bedtime, because you want to read it yourself. I don't get to pick out your clothes. I don't get to hear all your thoughts. You don't take naps with me. And you don't want me to kiss you in front of your friends. You're becoming too cool for me. Already.

You got a phone call from a school mate last night, and as you two sat gabbing on the phone for a half hour, I sat there thinking "What the hell are they talking about?!" You are already in that phase of girlness where you have your own language with your pals, and I am becoming too old to understand it anymore. You have inside jokes. Jesus Christ, inside jokes. You're only seven! You're so pretty and girly and popular and so totally everything I was NOT when I was a kid....and a teenager, and it just blows my mind.

You are almost growing up right before my eyes, and in a whirlwind, a haze, a blur of time. I hope you're never almost gone. I hope you're never totally too cool for me and I hope you never, ever, even almost forget how very much I love you. And how proud you make me, every single day of your life.