A Letter to Annie

Dear Annie,

I intended to write this to you yesterday, on your 3rd birthday, but, even though it was my birthday, too, there were somehow no breaks at all during which I could sit and think. So . . .

You're so proud to be three. Almost every day you spend some time telling me or yourself how big you are now and how you're "just like Kate" or "like a grown-up." You want to do absolutely everything yourself and become furious if I try to speed things along; while the time it takes to wash your hands or get into your car seat sometimes borders on double-digit minutes, I admire your persistence and independence. It truly seems like only minutes ago that I was in labor with you, so I'm amazed by all that you do and achieve.

One of the things I love best about watching you grow up is seeing your little talents and personality emerge. It's so fun to guess and speculate about what you'll be like - how you'll be like me, how you'll be like Daddy, and how you'll be totally unique. Lately, I'm noticing how compassionate you are, how quick your sense of humor is, how much you pick up on fashion details, how good you are at handling a soccer ball, how you're still not quite sure which hand to use when drawing, how curious you are about new things, and how quickly you make connections between your experiences. I can't wait to see what you learn this year!

Truth be told, you drive me a little crazy sometimes, too, in ways that I probably drove my mom crazy. With your constant chatter, questions, challenges, and desire to "go somewhere," you wear me out, but I love you anyway (this is from "Olivia," one of your favorite books). Even during the most difficult moments of the longest days, I still appreciate you because you push me to be more patient, generous, and wise than I ever thought I could be. Having you here makes me a better person. Thanks, Pippi.

My favorite moments of almost every day are these two: the early-morning seconds when you stumble out of bed, doop in hand, and come find us to cuddle; and the last few minutes of the evening when I read to you and sing you "the night-night song" before kissing you goodnight. Yesterday, our birthday, Daddy and I rushed into your room at the first sound of your voice so we could wish you happy birthday and bring you your presents in bed. This meant I had to stay up late, wrapping and setting things out for your special breakfast, and then hop out of my warm bed at the first sound of your voice on my birthday, when I should have been sleeping in or having breakfast in bed. But there you were, in your pink flannel polar bear jammies and a smug little smile on your face as you peeked in the gift bags, and I was so glad. Sharing a birthday with you is like sharing a life with you: one part sacrifice, a million parts privilege. Happy birthday, little one. I love you sooooooooo much.

Love,
Mommy