A Love Note to E

Dear Daughter,

 

From the very first moment I knew I was pregnant with you…till the moment I finally got to meet you face to face, you have had my heart.

 

Time has moved by too quickly.

 

I’m left with a montage of memories. Brief moments that show off your strength. Your absolute drive. Your will to thrive. Your fearlessness.

 

There’s the day we forgot to put you in the car. You were two. You waited patiently on the sidewalk. Arms crossed. Lips pouting and eyebrows drawn. With one foot propped up on a rock. Waiting.

 

I’m glad I always counted faces before we drove off.

 

Then there’s the first day of kindergarten. All the other kids were a full head taller than you. You were so tiny. And so bold. You walked up to the line of kids with your enormous backpack on. Dad and I stood and waited for you to go inside. And as the line started forward with us right behind you, you turned around, you put your little hand up and said these words. “I can do this Mommy and Daddy. I’ve got this.”

 

And you did.

 

Yes, we did have to ask your teacher to tell your classmates not to carry you around. And then there was that boy in your class that always tried to kiss you.

 

Oh my!

 

And in a blink…time rushed by.

 

You went from pink as your favorite color to wearing mismatched socks. From frilly dresses and big bows to T-shirt’s and blue jeans.

 

You continued to WOW me over and over.

 

There was the day you set all your friends down on the playground and gave them a sales spiel on remembering me as The Choice to sell their parent’s homes.

 

Or there was the day you were called into the principal’s office because of a mishap on the playground with a climbing bar, your foot, and a boy’s parts. It was an accident. You took one look at the giant dictionary on her desk and was afraid you were going to get that “book thrown at you!”

 

Your principal called me in tears because she was laughing so hard.

 

The day you picked French Horn as your instrument. Or the day you came home and said your coach asked you to do pole vault.

 

Time continued on the road we were traveling and seemed to speed up.

 

A move to California in the midst of your tenth grade year. Going from one of twenty five French Horn players to being the only one. Graduation. Too fast.

 

And before we knew  it, you were once again waving goodbye as we drove off to move back to Texas. “I can do it, Mom and Dad.” You said. “I’m going to be okay.”

 

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you.

 

I don’t take for granted the days I get to spend with you.

 

My daughter. My love.

 

My heart.

 

E!