Hey Stelly,
Well Sis, we made it to year number 4. This year has been an accumulation of small, but noteworthy changes that constantly remind me of how you have so completely shaken off the mortal coil of toddlerhood and are securely in the realm of Girl. And yes, I spelled Girl with a capital letter on purpose. Actually, to be more accurate, I should have spelled it GIRL, because you, my effervescent little creature, live your life with the caps lock on. And, if it makes you feel any better, your brother? That one not only lives with caps lock, but also while standing on the exclamation point key.
So, this year you stopped taking naps. Then you started again. Then you stopped. Stopped forever, I’m afraid. Not that you don’t need one, but rather, you just flat-out refuse to take one. And if there is one thing I have figured out in 4 years of being your parent it’s that I know when I can push and when I don’t stand a chance. The first time around, there was something that told me I still had a chance. A brief glimpse of a fracture in your resolve. And so I prevailed. Briefly. Then you staged a second attack, and I could tell that this time there would be no next time. And so here we are: you, me and our new forever of inseparable one-ness.
As for the other items on this year’s “done that” list, you can now add swimming. Yes, this was the year you decided that the pool water would not actually dissolve your face, and you began what I can – with loose definition – refer to as swimming. We’re talking, full-on, face-in-the-water, flailing around like an epileptic porpise kind of swimming. It’s not exactly something that will get you a passing grade on a lifeguard test, but oh Stelly, it was so fun watching you go from a girl who wouldn’t even take a shower, to a girl who will now not only hurl herself into the deep-end without a life-vest, but will also, yes, you heard it here first, FINALLY TAKE A SHOWER! Nevermind that you stand there the whole time complaining that I am hogging all the water.
And although you thought, hoped, prayed that we couldn’t dare sink any lower than last year’s maneuver of delivering you a shiny new baby brother, I have one thing to say to you: OH YES WE CAN. You see Stelly, there are going to be many times in your future where you are going to find yourself sitting in your room cursing our very existence and insisting that our life’s mission is to make yours as miserable as possible. And, let me tell you right now, that YOU ARE SO RIGHT! We started with the whole baby brother thing, then this year, waffled back and forth between either becoming vegetarians or moving into a new house. As you have become well aware, we settled on the latter. And as we drilled you on the logistics of what it would mean to move to a new house, we also tried to get your input. After asking you on numerous occasions whether or not you liked the new house, you would always reply with the exact same answer: NO! It doesn’t have any toys.
But much the same way as the whole baby brother thing came with a hidden silver lining of having a captive servant whom you can order around, and from whom you can steal toys, the new house has brought a whole host of unintended treasures as well. A gigantic yard, a neighborhood teeming with potential playmates, and the mother of all perks: big cable. And, big cable means Paula Deen, and the Barefoot Contessa, and Rachel Ray. That’s right, Stelly, you are now addicted to the Food Network. And you would step over our cold dead bodies before missing a single episode of that silver-haired lady who eats butter by the stick.
This is also the year we have begun having the more serious conversations about the big K. That’s right – Kindergarten. And unlike the parents who got pregnant in any month other than February or March, I don’t get to just parade on down to the local elementary school and sign you up. Instead, I am reminded of those 15 days wherein you were supposed to be here but refused to exit my body. Well, those 15 days have made all the difference. You are now on the far side of that magical date that separates the “ready” from the “not ready”. See, here’s the thing, in just about every way you are ready. You are so, so smart. You are incredibly smart. And yes, I am your mother. But it is true. You can write your name, and sound out words, and count to 100 and, can walk around the lunch table and read the name-card of each and every one of your peers – even when they can’t. In that way, Kindergarten is all you, baby. But, then I worry about your sensitivity threshold. More specifically, the side of you who still has the urge to bite the kid sitting next to you, when they ignore your warnings and insist on sitting too close to you at circle time. And when it comes down to it, every one of my instincts tells me to wait. To let you wiggle through those last few emotional phases before throwing you in with the sharks. But the thought of making you weather that extra year in pre-school is not the right answer for me either. And so what to do? WHAT TO DO? Don’t worry Stelly, we’ll get it figured out. And as of Fall 2008, you will be in the place that allows you all the greatness you deserve. I promise.
You know, sweetie, I could go on and on. This year has been so big – full of so many great things. And all I can say is this: you are awesome. And even though I am quick to use the word crazy, I want you to realize that now I am using it about your brother (who, by the way, is crazy). But you are no longer that kind of crazy. And I can’t really express how much fun that is for me. And, even though you have lost the crazy (mostly), your sense of humor is better than ever. Which you’ll need once we all become vegetarians next year.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl.
Love,
Mom
