For my oldest daughter, on her fourth birthday

For my oldest daughter, on her 4th birthday.

My little girl, no longer a baby, no longer a chubby toddler.  This year you have grown so much.  You continue to surprise and delight us with your songs, your stories, your knock-knock jokes.  

I am so proud of you, honey.  You are sweet, kind, silly and sensitive.  Sometimes you are feisty and sassy, but usually only to your momma.  I love to watch you dance, in dance class and at home.  Especially in dance class, when you are so intent on the teacher and you are trying so hard to do it right.  I love to watch you ride a horse, giggling when you trot, so serious when you’re trying to listen to your instructor.  You know your letters and you can count very well.  You love to write your name and you do an excellent job at it.  I, of course, think it means you’re a genius.  You can identify a few words in books, like Daddy and Mommy, and that of course makes me believe (again) that you are a genius. 

I worry about you, sweetheart.  Your enthusiasm for life is like a little soap bubble, so beautiful and filled with light, and so fragile.  I hope I can help preserve it.  I am awestruck by both your bravery and your vulnerability.  You alternate between being brave and confident, like when you march up to the front of the church to receive your birthday blessing, and being shy and careful, when you hesitate to ask another child to play with you at the park.  I worry that your strong desire to please will lead you to heartache, and I worry that your strong opinions will lead to friction.  You are both sassy and kind, demanding and obedient, fast and slow, loud and quiet.

I want so much for you, darling.  I want you to grow in confidence, to face challenges with determination, to be compassionate, to be creative, to be intelligent.  I want you to love deeply, to risk bravely, to work devotedly, to learn passionately, to live fully.  Most of all, I want to you enjoy being my little girl for as long as I’ve got you.