Mamaletter :: Eleven
(Note: This post title is shamelessly and unapologetically stolen from Stephanie.)
I am a rock star
I screech I yell
I rip and tare
The flashing light
Should I jump?
I’m caught by all
Then suddenly I hear
Over all the crowd screaming
Time for school
Oh man, I just had to be dreaming
—Jake H. 2009
Happy birthday. I won't embarrass you by kissing you or calling you 'Baby' or telling you to cut your hair (but please please cut your hair).
Eleven years ago when you were born it was a birthday of sorts for me as well. Before you were here my life's purpose was a blur. Since that balmy May day however I've never been at a loss for direction.
We tease you that you are a handful of a child (albeit a pocket-sized one). And it's true. Man, you give your family (friends and teachers too) a run for our money. Nothing is easy with you. Being your mother is exhausting. And challenging. And rewarding. And fun. I never know what a day will bring with you but I always know that I'll learn something. Some subjects we are currently studying: patience; humility; anger-management and how to say penis, vagina and poop without laughing.
You are thoughtful, kind, funny (really really funny), smart (a little too smart for your own good sometimes), precocious, talented and adorable.
You roll your piercing bright blue eyes at me when I tell you that one day you'll be glad that you feel things so deeply. You sigh annoyingly with me when I tell you that your intense nature will be your trademark and bring you success. You say it's cliche when I tell you that you can do anything you set your mind to. But I mean every word of it. You know what's boring? People who are boring. You. Are. Not. Boring. People are drawn to you because you are interesting. But interesting is hard when you are a kid. Kids are easier when they blend into the landscape. Which you do not.
Everyday with you is a moment for me to become a better mother which begins to complete me as a woman and for this, and everything else, I thank you.
I love you my little problem child.