Dear N,
N is my baby girl, my baby girl, my baby girl.
N is my baby girl, my ba-by girl.
You know this song, the one I sang to you and your brothers (although with tweaked lyrics) when you were babies, the one we still occasionally sing when we're giving hugs.
My memories of you as an infant and little girl are increasingly fuzzy. It's not that I want to forget, but I am wrapped up in who you are now, and it is hard for me to remember who you were then.
I'm always proud of you, but I am increasingly proud of your activist pull, your desire to right the wrongs of society. The fact that you chose a woman's rights poster to design for your new art class and had actually made a list of possible topics to protest that included misogyny makes me ever so happy. You aren't about to allow anyone to tell you who you can be. You decide for yourself.
Not too long ago, you decided to no longer wear the thick black lens-less eyeglass frames that have been an accessory for you since fourth grade. While I was a little sad to see them go, I'm also happy that you no longer need or want them. While I loved that you were fierce enough to wear them regardless of what anyone said or thought, I often wondered if you hid behind them. I'm glad to see all of your face now.
The fact that you are 14 doesn't seem to freak me out as much as acknowledging that you will be in high school in August. THAT feels monumental, and it is. In a little over four years, you will be able to vote and heading to college, well on your way to adulthood.
I don't know what you will be when you are an adult, but I'm glad you are a thinking, feeling person, a person who does her own thing and thinks her own thoughts. A person who isn't interested in being like every other girl on the block.
After a lull, you are once again interested in reading which, of course, makes your bookworm mom happy. Reading is critical to developing your skills as a reader, writer, and thinker.
Your friends' moms tell me often how great your personality is, how you are quirky in the best possible ways. I'm glad you have a sense of humor and can both give and take jokes. Being able to find the funny in yourself is a gift.
You tell me often that you're glad I'm your mom. Even though I tell you that you're the weirdest teen on the planet when you say this, I'm glad you think I'm a good mom. I'm glad you aren't hell bent on proving yourself to yourself. You have a calm confidence that it took me until my twenties to develop. (Possibly my thirties.)
I hope 14 is a great year. I hope you get into the high school you want (even though it will be mean more driving for me and I might whine a lot about it). I hope you have a great Spring Break trip with your cousin.
I'm not usually sad that you are no longer my sweet baby girl because I was able to savor those years with you, and I'm super excited to see what kind of young woman you become.
I love you to the Upside Down and back (cause that's way edgier than the moon),
Momma
N is my baby girl, my baby girl, my baby girl.
N is my baby girl, my ba-by girl.
You know this song, the one I sang to you and your brothers (although with tweaked lyrics) when you were babies, the one we still occasionally sing when we're giving hugs.
My memories of you as an infant and little girl are increasingly fuzzy. It's not that I want to forget, but I am wrapped up in who you are now, and it is hard for me to remember who you were then.
I'm always proud of you, but I am increasingly proud of your activist pull, your desire to right the wrongs of society. The fact that you chose a woman's rights poster to design for your new art class and had actually made a list of possible topics to protest that included misogyny makes me ever so happy. You aren't about to allow anyone to tell you who you can be. You decide for yourself.
Not too long ago, you decided to no longer wear the thick black lens-less eyeglass frames that have been an accessory for you since fourth grade. While I was a little sad to see them go, I'm also happy that you no longer need or want them. While I loved that you were fierce enough to wear them regardless of what anyone said or thought, I often wondered if you hid behind them. I'm glad to see all of your face now.
The fact that you are 14 doesn't seem to freak me out as much as acknowledging that you will be in high school in August. THAT feels monumental, and it is. In a little over four years, you will be able to vote and heading to college, well on your way to adulthood.
I don't know what you will be when you are an adult, but I'm glad you are a thinking, feeling person, a person who does her own thing and thinks her own thoughts. A person who isn't interested in being like every other girl on the block.
After a lull, you are once again interested in reading which, of course, makes your bookworm mom happy. Reading is critical to developing your skills as a reader, writer, and thinker.
Your friends' moms tell me often how great your personality is, how you are quirky in the best possible ways. I'm glad you have a sense of humor and can both give and take jokes. Being able to find the funny in yourself is a gift.
You tell me often that you're glad I'm your mom. Even though I tell you that you're the weirdest teen on the planet when you say this, I'm glad you think I'm a good mom. I'm glad you aren't hell bent on proving yourself to yourself. You have a calm confidence that it took me until my twenties to develop. (Possibly my thirties.)
I hope 14 is a great year. I hope you get into the high school you want (even though it will be mean more driving for me and I might whine a lot about it). I hope you have a great Spring Break trip with your cousin.
I'm not usually sad that you are no longer my sweet baby girl because I was able to savor those years with you, and I'm super excited to see what kind of young woman you become.
I love you to the Upside Down and back (cause that's way edgier than the moon),
Momma
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