A Mommy Story

Today, Mira woke up to greet her first day as a six year old.

I may have cried a little.

It doesn’t seem possible that my youngest daughter is turning six. That six years ago I went through 20-some hours of labor, after being nearly a week past my due date, to meet my fashionably late daughter who would count that as the beginning of a trend of doing things her own way.

She was an adorable baby. I remember how clingy she was – she liked to be touching me at all times, and still does that today when she’s feeling insecure and becomes a “space invader.” We couldn’t persuade her to do anything as a baby – it was all accomplished due to internal motivation. She watched me eating and demanded solid foods for herself. She learned to crawl because she wanted to get to Cordy’s goldfish crackers. (I’m sensing a food theme here…) It took extraordinary effort to get a smile out of her – always so serious, soaking in everything around her as if she was silently judging us all. Except for Cordy – she would always brighten up and smile for her big sister.

Why so serious, baby?

It’s hard to tell that there was once a time when Mira couldn’t speak clearly. Her speech is still a little difficult to understand, but not much worse than the average kindergartener. Gone are the days of speaking mostly in vowel sounds only, and while she still occasionally substitutes some consonants, she gets her point across. Therapy helped her recover from speech apraxia, and she has proven that by encouraging her to talk, we will never again get any peace in this house.

Now she’s six. She’s not my baby anymore. She’s a kid, with her chubby preschooler limbs replaced with long arms and legs, her face thinner, and looking more grown up every day.

I miss those curls, too.

Five was a big year for her: she was off to kindergarten, she lost her first (and her second) tooth, she went to Disney World, she rode her first big roller coaster, and she’s started learning to read. It’s been an exciting year.

She had a birthday party this weekend. Well, three parties actually. Friday night we had an informal dinner with Aaron’s family, where we just happened to have cake and presents for Mira, too. Then Saturday was her “official” party. She requested a party at Chuck E. Cheese and invited all of her friends from school. Ten kids were with her to celebrate, and she effortlessly spent time with all of them, running off to play games with different kids every few minutes, making sure no one was left out. She’s a social butterfly, always needing other people around her at all times.

And then yesterday we went to a family reunion, where again there happened to be presents for her. She didn’t mind that she didn’t know most of the distant cousins in the house. She just assumed they were all there for her birthday, too. Why wouldn’t everyone celebrate her birthday?

Her greatest strength, and greatest flaw, is her sensitivity. She can read people with ease, quickly coming to a friend’s side when needed and trying her very best to be a good person and do what she thinks is right. But that skill has given her tissue-paper skin around her ego, with her emotions bubbling just under the surface and breaking through at the slightest tilt in any direction.  When Mira laughs, it’s hard not to join in and she makes everyone around her feel happy. When she feels the smallest slight, the world is ending and nothing I do can console her. Tears can spring from her eyes with no warning at all.

She continues to have that inner drive pushing her forward in life. She wants to see it all, do it all, and when she’s really determined, she’s not afraid at all. If she is focused, she could rule the world. My only fear is that she’ll discover she doesn’t need us long before we can’t live without her. I will forever be asking her to not grow up so quickly, to enjoy this moment and this age, and she will likely be trying to do more, see more, be more before I want her to.

I miss the baby, but I love the girl she’s become and the young woman she’s turning into. She’ll have to tolerate her emotional mother for some time to come, watching her mature and wishing the clock would move just a bit more slowly to give me more time with her as a five year old, a six year old, and more years to come.

Six years. Just…wow.