Paloma,
One month ago you turned sixty months old. Five years old. You are now five.
I haven't written this letter until now because I am terrible with endings. This is the last letter, for now, and it will be hard to end this project.
On your birthday I gifted you a book of the first year of letters. You cannot read yourself, yet, but you adore your "baby book" and even shared it at school with your class on your sharing day. If I make a book a year of each year of letters for every birthday from here on out, you will be getting books until you're ten. TEN! Doesn't that sound crazy? I say yes.
You are now five. In five years you have learned to walk and talk and sing, to be a big sister and a friend, to eat and drink and laugh and scream, to dress yourself and walk the dog, to write your name and Arden's name and the word "love".
In just a few months you will go from a care-free preschooler to a full-blown Kindergartener. At once I cannot fathom how you are so small and so big, which is why I am grateful I stuck with the letter-writing. I now have written proof of every month of your life, and, without this, I may not believe it all really happened. It goes by so fast and so slow; it's a blur of a marathon, and we ran it together, you and me. My first baby, you will forever be.
Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mama
One month ago you turned sixty months old. Five years old. You are now five.
I haven't written this letter until now because I am terrible with endings. This is the last letter, for now, and it will be hard to end this project.
On your birthday I gifted you a book of the first year of letters. You cannot read yourself, yet, but you adore your "baby book" and even shared it at school with your class on your sharing day. If I make a book a year of each year of letters for every birthday from here on out, you will be getting books until you're ten. TEN! Doesn't that sound crazy? I say yes.
You are now five. In five years you have learned to walk and talk and sing, to be a big sister and a friend, to eat and drink and laugh and scream, to dress yourself and walk the dog, to write your name and Arden's name and the word "love".
In just a few months you will go from a care-free preschooler to a full-blown Kindergartener. At once I cannot fathom how you are so small and so big, which is why I am grateful I stuck with the letter-writing. I now have written proof of every month of your life, and, without this, I may not believe it all really happened. It goes by so fast and so slow; it's a blur of a marathon, and we ran it together, you and me. My first baby, you will forever be.
Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mama
< BACK TO THE BLAGUE