Tuesday, April 24, 2012

On Having a 5-year-old.

My tiny and sweet little first-born is five years old.

My sweet and chubby, delightfully absorbing, audacious and maddening, frightfully funny, stunningly beautiful, waited-for and just-right babe. Is FIVE.

Dearest, loveliest, daringest, bravest and brightest Luciya,

I love you so. Happy fifth birthday to you, my big and wondrous little girl. May your days continue to be filled with question and wonder, with delight and refusal, with determination and curiosity. May you continue to feel at home in this giant world, and may you continue to know in your heart that this life is for loving; that everyone loves you, and that it is okay to love.

You are Love exemplified. And somehow you found me and you make my heart turn in on itself and beam with pride, even in those moments - and they are not infrequent - that you make me want to tear out my eyebrow hairs, one by one.

You are a bright and thriving presence here, and while I on my right hand I want to cuddle your still-toddlerish cheeks and relish your pronunciation of "lellow" and "fings," on my heart-side I am ready to allow you to be five, to grow into this long and comfortable little girl who will be entering kindergarten in the fall.

Five years in a blink, a lifetime in a whirlwind of compromises and promises and thick eyelashes fluttering over olive cheeks. "Sheeks."

If I know anything about my own existence or purpose on this earth, it is that I was meant to be your mama. To love you with utter gratitude and awe, and to let you guide me, with your astounding old-soul wisdom, through these twisting miracles of Every Day.

Dear Luciya, may you and I always remain in this lovely capacity to talk with our hearts and share with our words. To "dream with our mouths" and find "night pictures on the ceiling."

Discovering the world through you has been a privilege. Somersaults = joy. The library = escape. Sharing the seemingly mundane = importance. Hugging = necessary. Haircuts = why not. Silliness = life. Compromise = annoying. "I don't care for the maybes, I only care for the yeses."

You are a jubilant star in the twisting galaxies of perplexity. You teach lessons on simple joy and the importance of a boundless imagination. May we all inhale the goodness that is a princess who is a sister and also a tap dance teacher who lives alone on a magical hill in the backyard.

Yes, you've been concerned/obsessed with death recently, but it has brought forth some pretty amazing insights:

"Mama, I don't want to be a statue. Then you couldn't run and play. And I would just be still all day." "I will never eat poisonous stuff." "Mama, when I die, will you pour fourteen cups of water on my statue?"

And there are the disappointments, of course:

"Mama." "What?" "It's hard." "What's hard?" "To catch a bird. All my life I wanted to catch a bird."

But just throw in some song lyrics, and you'll be good to go:

"London bridges are cooking meat, my fair lady."

"Cast off the shackles of yesterday, shoulder to shoulder, birds of prey!"

Welcome to the sixth year of your life, my dear one. Live it loud.

I love you, Luciya!