A Decade

Sometimes it doesn't even seem possible. I look at her, with all her personality and attitude and tweenyness, and I think, "How did that happen? She was just two."

But she isn't two anymore. She's going to be ten on Sunday and I can't believe she's been around for a decade. I can't believe it's been ten whole years since I was terrified in an OR. Ten years since she slept in a suitcase full of lights for jaundice. Ten years since I stayed up all night with her for two weeks while we got her days and nights switched back to normal. Ten years since I looked at that closet full of tiny pink dresses and wondered how I had that many friends who didn't know I hated pink.

And now, here she is, almost grown. And there are so many more things I know about her now than I did then. Then, I knew she was strong and smart and that she liked the sound of thunderstorms and that she got scared when I wrapped up my hair in a towel.

Now, I know that she loves books, words, sentences and the ebb and flow of language. I know that she loves fantasy best, but that she will give almost anything a shot. I know that she can't seem to live without a little bit of chaos, but that she can't live with too much chaos, either. I know that she has so much more going on in her head than anyone would ever guess.

I know that she likes animals more than people and that's okay, because there's some magic to watching her observe wild animals. I know that she's a good writer and a good friend and a good kid.

I know that even when she's not great at something, she has the passion to get by better than most.

I know that she's not fussy or primpy but that she cares very deeply about having a certain look.

I know that she's going to be trouble. I can see it in the boys who have crushes on her and the easy way that she talks to people and the easy way she moves through life, like nothing is really worth getting all that worked up over.

But, I know that when she does get worked up (usually at her sister) you should run for cover. She is a tornado in a teacup.

But the most important thing that I knew then, is still the most important thing I know now. That's my kid.

I am feircly proud of that kid. Today, I had a meeting at her school and I happened to be walking down the hall when she was waiting to switch classes and I saw her talking with her friends and laughing. She talks with her hands, like me. And she was twinkling and I wondered how anyone could see anything other than her. She took my breath away.

So often, I see her with my critical eyes. Her shirt is too short or she's wearing her pants too low. She needs a haircut or is that chocolate on her face? But this morning, I just took her in, in all her amazing glory.

That's my kid.