This post is two weeks late but I didn’t forget. I know it’s two weeks late because Facebook just posted the love letter I wrote you at two weeks old. It made me cry. It’s been a big four years, baby girl, and you have brought endless laughter and love explosions, and the occasional near stroke.
I have been waiting for the time and space to write you a love letter and it only came now. I wouldn’t dream of not doing it because one day when you read this account of ours lives if you see your brother got one and you didn’t I know there would be hell to pay.
I know this about you already.
You are the most affectionate and loving little monkey going, and you have a very sharp sense of humour. Your double dimples and giggle make everyone fall in love with you and those blonde curls make you look as if butter wouldn’t melt…..however, you are fiercely fierce, my girl.
If you make your mind up no amount of bribery or cajoling will entice you. Right now it drives me crazy, you stay calmly resolute while I get my knickers in a right old knot. I think in time that strength will serve you well.
Right now, however, you’re teaching me patience, and how to think outside the box in my parenting skills. D Man could always be convinced to toe the line…..now it’s a whole different ball game.
I try to explain that we need to be a team but sometimes you require convincing. We’ll work on it, or I’ll blow a gasket by the time you’re 10 I predict.
You have this way of talking with your hands that enchants everyone. You have a dramatic flair with grown-up mannerisms and it takes people quite by surprise.
Not me, I know you’re wise beyond your four years and clever as a whip. Your Nana tells me that I used my hands like that when I was little. I guess I still do. It’s funny how we gain knowledge like this in our very cells.
You help with your brother’s homework. You sit beside him as he learns to read and you’re learning at the same time. I’m hopeful that this will make your learning to read easier and I can halve my work load. No pressure, I’m not using subliminal tapes in your sleep or anything, just hopeful.
Sometimes you speak like a sassy teenager, then some days you want to be a baby and you become this other child who makes up her own baby language and wants to be carried. You’re really heavy, FYI. I love to indulge you when you’re being a baby but man, you’re a love nugget.
I doubt anyone would call you a placid child. You fight with your brother, and run and leap and scream your head off, laughing like a loon. You love to dance and draw and you drop ‘I love you’s’ like they’re going out of fashion. You’d share your last piece of chocolate with anyone who asks and you love helping your Nana get her shoes on or get her legs in the car.
Basically, you’re right on track, babes, and apart from that really annoying guttural snarl war cry you make to mark your territory when your brother encroaches on your Lego that makes hairs stand on end, I wouldn’t change a thing.
You’re a fierce, funny, witty, charming, loving, absolute delight, and you are mine.
And I am yours.
Happy birthday, Funny Face, I love you more than mangoes.