The year of 11 was a year of firsts, for both of us. She started middle school and had her first school dance ever. She's more into hair than she ever was and more into clothes (she's starting to "borrow" mine). She found a love of a sport (volleyball) and a love of music (she loves playing the flute). This past year was my first time not getting hugs during school drop-off. If I was lucky, I'd get a kiss on the cheek, but it was more of a tip of the ear kind of good-bye. Yeah, I'm still trying to figure that out myself. I had the joy of school dance pick-up that included a very sweaty preteen who almost lost her voice. I found that she and her friends apparently think we all came out of the womb as adults and did nothing but be grown-ups. And I completely get that one, I remember thinking the same thing. But I feel like she's too young to pretend I'm not her mother.
This is my future. I can feel it in my bones.
But I digress. This post is in honor of the kiddo that came out crying and full of spite fire.
She's one of kind, that for sure. She's got a mind of her own (and we all know she's been like that since birth) and is more opinionated than I ever figured she would be. She's got the sarcasm, the attitude and quick wit I consider smart aleck-ness. She's a reader and writer and her imagination is crazy (but in the best way possible). She's focused student who worries about doing well in school. How else would she get into Oxford? And I'm not one of those crazy mom's who puts an absurd amount of pressure on their kid to make sure she's the best. If anything, I usually have to tell her to relax because she's put too much pressure on herself. The idea to go to Oxford is all hers.
She's worrier and sometimes a bit of politician. She always wants everyone to be happy and (even if she doesn't realize it) when she thinks the people she cares about aren't anything but happy, she'll try her darnedest to get them there.
She's my kiddo and very much a mini me and I would not change her for the world. She's one of kind and I'm so glad she's in my life because she's made it so much better.
Now enough mushiness. I can remember when she fit comfortably in my arms:
Now I've only got a few more years before she's taller than me. Seriously, this photo is not lying. She's four inches shorter than me . . .
But, bub, I love you and have a great 12th birthday!!!!!!!
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