My Bug,
When you were but a wee babe, your aunts and uncle would say to me, "you don't deserve her!" They were right. What they meant, to clarify, is that you were the easiest baby that has ever lived. You slept through the night at 5 weeks of age...in your own crib. You cried when you were hungry, when you needed a fresh diaper, and when you wanted me to stop holding you. That was it. As your little baby self grew, you took your naps without a fuss and on the very rare occasion that you did protest I simply would say, "it's time for sleep" and you would look at me, defeated, and put your head on your pillow. You devoured your homemade baby food and rejected your pacifier as any perfect first child should. Anyone reading this with children will understand that novelties such as homemade baby food and hoping that your baby won't take a pacifier are reserved only for the first child. By the time the third comes along (sorry, Drew) they're lucky to get the applesauce left over from their big sister's lunch plate, and pacifiers become more of a golden gift from the gods that you find yourself dipping in sugar water to get the baby to please just take! Oh, did I write that out loud. I digress (and exaggerate; just to be clear, Drew was fed nothing but the best organic baby food any local supermarket might carry- not homemade, but close and he never did take a pacifier, but I would have been thankful if he did).
Then you turned two.
Sleep became a battle that was often fought in the wee hours of the morning. Eating became a battle of the wills. Potty training became the bane of my existence. That perfect child I was once blessed to have had come into her own. Finally I had the child I deserved. A girl with (quite possibly) more sass and spunk than even I had as a small child. Well, that's a tough one to beat - so maybe not more, but it seems at least equal. You found your voice and your opinion and your will and you let us all know about it. I'll be honest, there was a slice of time where I found myself in the parental self-help section of any given book store, desperately on the phone with my parents asking things like, "what did you do with me?", and even resorting to parental techniques that I once mocked.
It wasn't until you were much older that I looked back on that transitional year and it finally hit me. You were faced with a lot of change in life when you were the mere age of two. Your sister was born. We moved from the only home you knew to a new home. A new town. New friends. New routines. Of course that would throw anyone off. And here we are now, ten years later with the most amazing young little lady any parents could ask for.
You are the big sister I always wanted. Heh, heh. Kidding. I just popped that in there to see if my sisters are reading. No, you really are the most wonderful big sister. When Livy was a baby you rocked her, tickled her, tried to cheer her up when she was sad, and only you could come up with a nickname for her like, "The cheekest one". To Drew, you are his hero. You read to him, you comfort him, you tackle him in the leaves. On the outside you're a tough little cookie who can take on the world, but when that moment came that he could finally pronounce your name with a Z instead of a D, it was you who burst into tears. "He doesn't call me Doey anymore...he's getting all grown up! Did you hear him just call me ZOEY?"
And to us, your mom and dad - you brighten our world every day. To watch you grow into yourself is truly gratifying. You were the baby who never really fit into being a baby, or even a toddler. You've been wanting to talk and walk and think and do, all on your own, since I first held you. And here you are. Ten years old and thinking and doing amazing things. You pour through books like they are candy. You write pages and pages of some of the most creative and fantastic stories I've ever read. You help with laundry. You and your sister even made dinner for the family the other night. A person's greatness certainly isn't measured by how many books they read or write, or even how much laundry folding or dinner making is done. That's not my point. My point is that you are you and I love who you are. I love that you help so much, that you read so much, that you love to write, that you need your alone time like Dad's bike tire needs air. I love all of the amazing things about you. I love that you wanted a spa day with me and one close friend over a giant blow out of a birthday party.
I miss your tiny little self with your pigtails and sass running around. But, more than I miss that, I look forward to getting to know who you are now, who you will become. As much as I get frustrated that you won't let me style your hair, I admire you for knowing what you want. As sad as I am when you come home angry because someone made fun of your middle name, I smile inside knowing that someday you'll be thankful for that middle name. As much as I get tired of saying, "would you please stop dancing while I'm trying to make your dinner, I adore that you love dance so much.
For you, my spirited, loving, strong, gorgeous ten year old - I wish you not an easy road in life, but the strength, courage, and knowledge to navigate the bumps and stay true to who you are. I love every single stitch of you. Never forget that!
Happy decade, my Monkey Bean.
