Three

My dearest girl:

I had the best intentions to write this on your actual birthday two days ago, but you'll find out all about best intentions and where they lead - and all too soon... So I'm a little late, but not at all any less blessed, looking over the last three years that you've been with us.

You were born two weeks past your intended due date (probably because you thought combining your birthday with the rest of noisy winter holidays was low on your list of wishes) - and even then you had to be convinced to join us. You're no less spirited now than you were then.

You're a beautiful, sensitive, kind girl. This year, among the things I'm most grateful for, for you, are your health, and the way we can now talk. I can TALK to you. WITH you. I can hear you tell me about your day; or tell me you don't feel good; or, as in that one random incident when I checked in on you in the middle of the night, you can whisper in the dark in your tiny raspy voice: "I love you, Mama."

You have acquired a brother. I'm very thankful for your goodness with Jack. True, you've had to grow through some resentment toward us for all the attention we had to give to Jack - and some that took away from you. But even at three years of age, you're not unreasonable. You're still sweet and gentle with him, and you've let go of the worst of your temper once we figured out that all you needed were a few extra minutes of our time each day, and words of love and praise (forgive us - we tend to be REALLY slow at times, with catching on!).

You're an agile, active spirit - I'm convinced that left to yourself, you'll dine and sleep under the stars outside. Well, maybe not in the middle of this winter - but at any time the weather is warm. I'm so glad we brought in the new playset for you in the back yard - I can't WAIT to see you spend hours playing outside when spring returns.

You've learned to count and to sing your ABC's. You've watched your first long movie (Monsters vs. Aliens) and you can discuss relative merits of both.

I have begun a stash of your artwork - the kind you'll never understand why I kept. That's alright. One day you'll start a stash for your own kids.

You've weathered Jack's time at the hospital, and the huge change his birth and surgery brought into our family. I still remember coming home at various time of day from Le Bonheur, only to be greeted with your tiny, excited 'Mama!!!' - and there you were, twirling around the room, restless to show off anything you've done that day, wanting to share so much, wanting to spend time together. You have no idea how your love helped carry me through.

You've enjoyed your holidays this year... you're learning the perks of everything from Halloween and Christmas to birthday celebrations, and it makes all of them more meaningful, to relive them through your eyes.

You're still growing like a weed - a slender, curly weed. My favorite dandilion. I've loved watching you and Daddy continue to be best buds... trust that if there ever lived a Daddy's Girl, you're it.

Now you're three. I would try to make out all my hopes and dreams for you - but more than anything, I'm fully certain that your growth and progress are under God's control. How safe it is to know that... I do my best to be your Mama, but I have, and I will, fail you. I will be too harsh or too soft - or I won't be there when you need it. I will midjudge you. I will fall short of your expectations. That's a fact. But I am sure of this - with God's guidance, I pray to be the best mother I can - and pray that He is and will be your God to make up for all of my inadequacy.

Keep smiling, Sweet Pea. Happy Birthday.