Tonight, as we do every year on the eve of her birthday, I took the Freeloader upstairs to bed and kissed her goodnight and said goodbye to my eight year old so that tomorrow morning I can greet her all over again as a nine year old.
I won't lie or pretend this doesn't get a little harder every year. When she was very small, I rejoiced in the start of a new year. I didn't love the infant stage as much as most moms do, so every step that meant she would gain more independence, that she would have more personality, or that she might tackle more milestones set my heart ablaze. I was eager to learn more about her and who she was growing to be. I still am. Now, though, it's more and more bittersweet as I think about the years that have passed in a blink and the ones that I know will pass in another blink. That rapidly narrowing gap of time between the years where she adores me as the center of the universe and the years she will curse me non-stop to her friends and slam her door in my face makes me very sad. Especially since right now she is so fucking cool.
Sometimes I look at her, in quiet moments where she's being creative, and I marvel at the person she's become. She is funny, and whip smart. She will spend hours creating stop motion movies with her Legos. She loves to draw and paint and create. She laughs with all of herself, in a way I've never been capable of doing. She is free of spirit, unaware that some of the world would ask her to temper herself for their comfort, and I hope she never learns that. She surprises me so often with her confidence and her genuine ability to be deeply kind to others, even when they do not show the same kindness to her. On any given day she wants to be a scientist, an illustrator, a voice actor, an artist, an animator, or an explorer. She has big dreams, and I hope I have helped give her a heart big enough to follow them. I hope as she grows, she doesn't lose any of these things that make her shine so much brighter than some other kids. I hope the only thing that ever holds her back is a seatbelt.
So tonight, I said goodbye to this version of her, and anxiously await my chance to greet the newest version of her in the morning. I hope that this next year sets her ablaze and she keeps burning brighter with each passing day and holds on to that amazing confidence that keeps her so grounded in who she is. There are times when she'll tell me "I don't think I know myself very much yet, mom, because I'm only eight and it takes a long time to know who you are" and while there is so much wisdom in that statement, I think she doesn't realize how far down that path she already is. And I can't wait for another year of learning more.
Goodnight, sweet girl. I can't wait to meet you again tomorrow.
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