Three Years and One Month

My Emily,

Today you are three years and one month old. I hope you appreciate the fact that I've kept you alive for THREE WHOLE YEARS. Believe me kid, it's been rough.

Your birthday party was a hit. You loved dressing up as a princess and you loved your friends there and you loved that games I had there for you, with the amazing help of our friend Sarah, and you loved your presents. What really got me was how well you behaved. I must be doing something right baby, because you're amazing.

Maybe it's selfish of me to take the credit for it; Maybe I just lucked out. What I think, though, is what I've always thought: That you and I are just meant for each other.

This month has been so much fun. SO MUCH FUN. You're getting in to real music in a way you never have before. You're developing preference and though I may not always agree with what you like, I'm thrilled at this advancement. Your favorite song right now, hands down is The Best of Both Worlds by evil incarnate Hannah Montana. Now, I don't know how you even figured out that she existed. I imagine it has something to do with school, because I never would have introduced you to her. School is the same place that you got introduced to Spanish and talking in the third person, aka Dora and Elmo. You say their names so clearly now, Dora and Elmo. I almost miss "Doowah and Momo." Almost. But now it's Hannah Montana, which you can also say correctly (you've gone from tannah-anna to saying it correctly, which is awesome.) You've seen one episode because it was on and you SHRIEKED. It was the same shriek that you made at the store one day when you located a two-inch by three-inch bottle of Hannah Montana perfume on the bottom shelf two aisles down. Your radar is impeccable. You jump and sing and wave your head around and scream "SHE'S GOT THE BEEEEEST OF BOTH WORLDS" over and over, to the point where, against my judgement, I'm actually making you a damned CD just so you can learn the rest of the words.

You got a stereo for your birthday and it is pink and has gemstone buttons. I love it because now you can listen to music whenever you want to. And it means that I don't have to incessantly listen to ABC songs or anything else high-pitched and rhyme-y in repeat.

I want you to know that this CD will have a lot of different music on it. When w2e listen to the radio or to my playlist, you have preference. At least twice a day you will tell me which songs you like and which ones you don't. So I'm making you a couple CDs in hopes of expanding your musical horizons. And in hopes of getting you early, there will be some Backstreet Boys on there. At least it's not as bad as Grandma getting me hooked on Michael Bolton at the tender age of eleven. Be thankful for small things, Emily. It's an important lesson.

We are getting ready to move. You don't really know what that means, but you're picking up on the excitement of it. I've really been trying to amp you up for it, to get you smiling and laughing about it, because I'm not sure how you're going to handle the transition. You're excited that we're moving close to one of your friends though. I'm excited to be somewhere safer and with someone I love. To have the both of you in the same house is something that creates such a feeling of excitement I'm hard-pressed to describe it to you. I'm scared of the stairs though. You've never lived with stairs.

You've gotten more empathetic this month too, baby. You're quick to say sorry when someone's in pain, often coming up to me at the end of the night when I'm doing dishes and you hear a sigh and saying "are you tired momma?" You tilt your head and make your eyes big with mock understanding and you take my hand and kiss the top of it. You tell me I'm silly and that if I'm tired I should go to sleep. You are so sweet.

Emily, I love getting to share this life with you. I love even more that you forgive me, every time. Sometimes it takes you a little longer, but I love navigating this with you, All of my letters the last few months have had this same theme of being grateful to you, grateful for you. And while I don't like that they're probably going to sound repetitive when you're reading these someday, I can't change it. Every day I am so amazed at what you give me in this life, at the things you teach me. I think it is so interesting to watch you learn things, things like how to tell a joke or how to recover from embarrassment (which, honey, you need to work on. Because the rage thing isn't working so well.), or watching you learn to button your pants and letters omhygod LETTERS YOU'RE STARTING TO LEARN LETTERS. I can't WAIT to turn you on to the world of books. I can't wait.

I got a picture of your Uncle Steve from Grandma a few days ago. My three year old brother in a denim jacket with hair spiking up to the sky is all of a sudden 6' tall in a skateboarding shirt and looks like what he is: a young man. I can still see the three-year-old face in him, beneath the grin and the Myspace hair and the lanky arms I can see the eyes that teared up when I had to leave and the teeth that were coming in to make up his incredibly toothy smile. I wonder if I'll always remember your faces. I have one of your school pictures next to me that was taken when you were about two and a half and already, seven months later, you look different. Older. I love how your face changes and I miss the days when I got to stay home with you. I would stare at you for hours, memorizing every detail. I got so intimate with that baby face that sometimes when I see you grinning or look at your expressions from afar I am shocked at how much you've grown.

Our days are longer now, Emily, than they used to be. When you were little we were never separated for longer than ten or twenty minutes at a time. I miss those days and I regret the necessity of it changing. I hate that now our days aren't like that, that by the end of the day I am so happy to see you but so exhausted and just DONE smiling that sometimes, you don't get what you need from me.

Even our little routines we used to have have been hit because of packing and behavior things and eating things. Life is happening Emily, and it will always do that. But as frustrated as I get, I always love you. As much as I fail, I always try and as much as sometimes I just need quiet, your voice will always be my light.

I love saying goodnight to you. I love our kissy games and I love when you surprises me. Usually I say I love you and you say "OK! Bye mom, and hey, turn out the light." Last night I walked in to say goodnight and you held up both arms to me. I leaned down to hug you and dug my nose into your collarbone, in one of your tickle spots, and you said "Hey, momma? I love you so much. You know that?"

I'm rational enough to know that that's mostly imitation. But I know you well enough to know that it came from your heart, that you love me as much as you know how.


I love you so much,

Momma.