Dear Maia,
At 2:48 this afternoon, you will be one year old. (I'm sitting here at the computer now, wondering where to go from there! That one sentence is so intimidating!) I don't want to turn to worn-out musings on how much my life as changed, or what a joy you are, because I don't know that things like that will get to the heart of the matter for me.
The heart is that you are a complex, complicated human being, even with only twelve months here on earth behind you. I watched you today, sitting in your chair at your new table, analyzing the shapes and sizes of the wooden blocks in your hands, and I could see your mind working. You tilt your head, furrow your brow, and when the neurons are really firing, you stick out your lips or your tongue. When I look in your eyes, I can read your moods before you express them: you have a look that says "I'm about to make a joke," and another that says "I'm not so sure about all this . . ."
I love the way you turn an object over and over again in your hands, examining it from every side.
I love the way you lean over the side of your crib as far as you can in the morning, to see what's going on around the corner and down the hall.
I love the way you bounce up and down with your knees when it's time to get out of bed.
I love the way you say "uh oh" before you drop (or sometimes fling!) an object to the floor.
I love how you grab your head at an angle, from both sides, when I ask "where's your head?"
I love how you're expressing affection this week: gentle touches forehead-to-forehead, hugs, tucking your hands in against my belly or chest, resting your head on my shoulder . . . you've been so cuddly this week!
Your quirky, charming personality grows out of these details, all of them put-together to make you who you are. On the challenging days and nights, when perhaps you've expressed your opinions a bit more strongly or have slept significantly less than usual, I try so hard to remember that the things that make you challenging also make you wonderful: your interest in the world around you, your sense of humor, your strength, your desire for connection to other people. You remain one of the happiest babies that I've ever met, and, considering the way that you seem to relish your experiences in the world, it's no wonder that there are days that you'd just rather not sleep! The big, wide world is just too interesting!
I used to use the word "mellow" to describe you, but you've outgrown that quality (for the most part). Instead you are vivacious, compassionate, stubborn, and focused. As you grow from a toddler into a young girl into a woman, I hope that these qualities stay with you, and even intensify. I realize that one part of parenting involves considering where you hope your child will be, rather than where she is. I want you to be strong and determined and principled--and so I need to honor and respect your strength now, even when it conflicts with the vision of the day that I have in my mind. But, of course, there's a fine line between "respecting strength" and being permissive--and I'm sure that that's a line that we'll be navigating together for years!
So, my daughter Maia, on this fantastic day, I'm thinking about the year that's past, but I'm also thinking about all of our years to come. With each day that I get to spend with you--and, thank goodness I've been with you for the vast majority of your waking hours--I see something that makes you seem more like a child than a baby. It's so clear to me that your period of babyhood has already ended, in so many ways. And yet, when you cuddle up to my shoulder in the morning or smile while you nurse at night, you are a baby still. I am certain, deep in my heart, that these memories of baby Maia will stay with me my entire life. You might be a toddler during the day, but you still have fleeting moments of babyhood when night falls.
I love you, my baby girl. I love you, my big girl. I love you Maia.
Mama
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