You are two years old today. TWO. And I’m dangerously close to not being able to call you a baby anymore. You are currently sitting in a booster seat in a grown up chair, recently you’ve taken to sliding down the slide by yourself, you climb everything, run faster than your momma down the beach, and swim with your float confidently without holding onto my hands. Not all of your baby traits have faded though as you still have a sweet baby giggle, nuzzle my neck when your tired or hurt, love letting all of us read to you and have the cutest round cheeks. But … I can tell… the baby side of you is waning and a beautiful, independent girl is emerging.
In two years’ time you have astonished me. Your dazzling personality draws kids and adults alike toward you. In places that we frequent and friends we see often, people mention how much they love just being around you. You prove to us that set free, children with any sort of difference will fly. You have a wild spirit and obvious courage. You are determined to do anything and everything… mostly on your own now. People don’t see your hearing aids anymore, they see a bright and remarkable girl.
In two years’ time, you have shown the world that differences are beautiful. Your journey has helped families prepare for adoption of children with Microtia. You’ve changed how people will treat others with any syndrome, difference or uniqueness. Your story has touched someone in almost every country in the world.
I see such incredible things happening underneath that mop of blonde hair. You are one tough kid. You stood tall and straight with no tears when that little boy shoved you at the playground. You comfort children when they cry. You sit dutifully in your reading nook and read every book… sounding out words. Copying your father, you make this delightful “muah” sound when you kiss anyone. And when you hug your tired momma, you pat me on the back… letting me know that everything in life will be okay.
You are a gift that continues to reveal itself daily to me. When you string words together, point out every object on every page of a book, sign again to me after I sing to you… I marvel at how smart you are.
In two years’ time, you’ve allowed me to become the person I was always meant to be. An advocate, a better wife and daughter, a writer, a mother. You have taught me courage. You have given me a true gift of knowing what’s really important in life. Also of letting go. Of letting you just be a kid. I’ve learned to turn pain into teachable moments. I’ve learned what to look for in my own friends and what to ask for in a marriage. These two years have been the most remarkable years of my life.
It’s amazing what can happen… in just two years’ time.
I love you like I’ve never loved before. You are my light.