It's been a while since I've written you a letter, or written a blog post disguised as a letter. You're three (and 3/4 holycrap) now and I can't wrap my brain around how we got here. This is when I should say "it feels like just yesterday that you were a gurgling, squishy blob drooling on my arm while I rocked you to sleep" but honestly... baby Emma feels like a distant memory to me. Probably because my days are so filled with handling threenager Emma that I don't have time to have a memory anymore.
I'll get the mushy stuff out of the way first.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every bit of sorrow you'll feel in your heart, for every tear you will shed, for every moment you will wish things were different in your life, and for every question you may have as a result of your father and I getting a divorce. I'm sorry that we couldn't work things out to be a family. It is not what I wanted for your life, and I will always feel immense guilt for not being able to save our family. But know that, for every ounce of guilt and sorrow I feel, I am that much more determined to give you the best life possible, whether that includes a stepfather for you or not. It could be just you and I against the world forever, and I'm ok with that. I hope that I can at least show you what a healthy relationship is like, and I hope that you will strive to one day find a man of your own (when you're 35! Sorry) who treats you the way you see me being treated. Or I hope that you grow up knowing that a man does not make a strong woman and that you don't need another person in your life to be happy. That YOU are your source of happiness, and maybe one day you'll meet a man (ok, or a woman, it's not 1960 anymore) that will want to share that happiness with you and enhance it. But no matter what, my goal is for there to never be a day in your life that you question how important you are to me. I want you to always know that you are my #1 priority in life, above everyone and everything else. You deserve that. There will never be a friend, a man... anyone, who will mean more to me than you. And I want you to look back on your childhood with fondness in your heart and know that you had the absolute best childhood ever. We probably won't be jet-setting across the world, but I hope you can recall wonderful memories of campfire marshmallows, movies on the couch, and snuggles under the covers while it rains. I hope you'll be close to all of your family members, and that you'll get to spend as much time as possible with people who love you. Those are the important things in life.
I want you to always remember that I love you more than absolutely anything that has ever existed in the universe. Kid, you're pretty freaking awesome, even when you're driving me crazy. You do that a lot these days, but it's the good kind of crazy. It's the kind of crazy that makes me drink a beer after you go to bed, or gently suggest you sit with your ipad and turn into a YouTube zombie for a bit so I can breathe. It's the kind of crazy that leaves me exhausted at night, as I climb into bed and smile when I think about the ridiculous and adorable things you did that day.
You taught me a very valuable lesson recently... as I was figuring out where we were going to live, I had a few choices. One of those choices would have enabled you to have a playroom, like you had in our old house. But it would have really pushed my limits budget-wise. I decided that the smarter thing to do would be to get the apartment we currently live in (the "princess castle" as we call it these days), although it's small and there's no playroom. I worried you'd be upset about not having that extra space for all of your toys, especially coming from having an entire wing of our old house that was practically yours. And now I couldn't even fit half of your toys into this space. Deep sigh. We've been in this apartment for a month and a half now, and you've never complained for a second. In fact, you love this apartment. You were actually pretty excited about the fact that your bedroom is also your playroom and you seem to have not noticed the lack of space to stretch out and play with your toys. You don't care. You're just happy to be here with me, and happy to have toys to play with.
Big, dramatic facepalm of shame. Of course you don't care about the size of this apartment or the lack of playroom space. You're three. Your day is complete if you've been able to smash playdoh into places it shouldn't go and parade around in some kind of dress-up outfit. Added benefit: less space for you to misplace your Elmo. As we've settled into this little home, I've realized that the stuff doesn't matter. It's the people, and the time, and the memories. Thanks, kid. I needed to learn that.
My Emma, you amaze me. I guess you're supposed to, since you're my child and all, but you really do. Recently, I was checking your body for moles (add that to the list of "weird things moms do" because the little moles popping up on your skin are too freakin' cute) and found your PICC line scar and it took me back for a moment. I remembered how teeny tiny you were when you were born, and how you'd stop breathing and turn blue in my arms every day. How I worried you'd have brain damage and would struggle... and here you are, running circles around dear old mom with your logic and reasoning.
So to avoid writing a novel about how absurdly cool you are (oh god, by the time you're old enough to enjoy this, "cool" is going to be such a lame-o term used by old people ugh), I'll just list reasons and make it into a more organized novel:
- You're kinda creepy. In a super-cute preschooler way, of course. But... you make uncomfortable eye contact with me when you're pooping. Yesterday, you asked me if we could naked cuddle on the couch. There's a story behind that, that involves the day prior and you having a meltdown while wearing your mermaid costume and asking if we could cuddle which ended up with you snuggling with me while wearing just your panties. ANYWAYS. You told me recently that you save your poops for home because you love me so much. Basically, you have absolutely no boundaries. You take hits of the back of Elmo's head like you're sniffing glue. One morning, when I was dropping you off at daycare, I pulled you out of your car seat and you held on to Elmo. I asked you to put him back in the car so we could go inside, and you whispered "I just need one more smell" and took a big whiff, and then threw him into the back seat. I tell you all the time that you're weird, which is another way that I say "I love you."
- You're wicked smart. Like, smarter than me, and I give up. I have resigned myself to the fact that my life is dominated by my three-year-old dictator who, may I remind you, still needs me to wipe her bum. You aren't even 4 yet, and you can read and write your name, do simple math in your head (wtf), count to... I don't even know- probably a million, and you've known all of your letters for at least a year now. But it's your ability to reason that freaks me out and makes me think you're clearly ready to get a job and start paying your own bills. Seriously, spicy cheez-its are expensive and I could use the help, child. I'm a single mom now. Ahem, anyways... you solve problems in your head, propose solutions, and make connections super fast. And you can explain yourself too... small example: yesterday, we were driving home and passed a car accident that had just happened. There was a woman standing on the side of the road with bright red (not natural) hair. You said "she has strawberry colored hair like Ariel the mermaid." Later, we passed an ambulance and I said they were going to the accident we passed. Your response: "the Ariel accident? Her name isn't Ariel but I don't know her name, so I call her Ariel because she has strawberry colored hair." wtf. w.t.f. You're only 3! Today, you were trying to explain to me that you wanted a piece of candy from your bag. I'm very, very clear on where the candy bag is and what it looks like, but you needed to be sure. So you said "that bag. Over there, on the counter, next to the coffee cup." Next up: calculus.
- You're so
emotionalspirited. You approach all situations with a ferocity that is usually completely unnecessary, just like your mama. lolz. You're actually learning how to harness some of that emotion and get it under control, but at times, your little threenager brain loses control and you have massive meltdowns. At least you haven't peed on the floor again recently (jinxed it!), but the occasional exorcist-screaming meltdowns still come out of nowhere. Like tonight! But you very quickly identified that you needed to calm down, and opted for a voluntary time-out until you could calm the hell down, which was such a big-girl decision. But you love fiercely, your little body can barely contain your joy at times, and sometimes you just can't scream loudly enough to convey the rage that burns inside you. I hope to help you use your spirited personality for good, because it can take you places if you don't let your emotions control you. - You have a daily identity crisis. Actually, you usually have at least 6 in a day. One minute you're a big girl so I don't dare call you "baby" and the next minute you're not a big girl so you need me to get you a sippy cup. Sometimes you aren't a big girl, but a mermaid. Other times you are a princess, but usually you're Elsa and I don't dare call you Emma when you're Elsa. I find it absolutely hilarious when you want to pretend to be a mommy, because you totally emulate me- you lay out firm boundaries, give instructions, and let me know that if I don't listen to you there will be consequences (you truly make me sound like evil dictator mom, I love it).
- You're becoming thoughtful. This is mega exciting for me, because I really don't want you to end up being an asshole in life. And I've learned recently that not everyone is naturally capable of being considerate of others. Some people just can't do it. You, however, seem to be off to a good start so far. You'll sometimes ask me in the morning if I need a water bottle for work, and will go into the cabinet and get me one. Sometimes I tell you I need one even though I don't, just because I want to reinforce this awesome behavior. Or you'll ask if my feet are cold, and will lay a blanket over me. Again- my feet aren't usually cold but I tell you that they are, and then praise the heck out of you for being so thoughtful and making mommy so happy. It's not the water bottle or the blanket that makes me happy- it's that you wanted to do something for me. It's incredible.
- You sleep. And you sleep well. Except lately, when you've decided that your new bedtime is 9:30 but hey, at least you stay in bed and just roll around until you finally pass out. But you don't usually wake up in the middle of the night, you sleep well, and you still nap every day. Woop! Emma naptime= mommy naptime. Please always nap. Even when you're 10. Please.
Our days are filled with random singing and dancing, cuddles, hide-and-seek, arguing about food, saying "I love you!" at random, and me telling you that whining hurts my ears and you should stop. I wouldn't trade a single second with you for an eternity with anyone else. I truly wouldn't.
So here we are. Mommy and Emma. Emma and Mommy. Grabbing life by the horns and finding as much joy as we can... we're gonna be fine, kiddo. We already are. Just be easy on me down the road when you're way smarter and taller than me, because no matter what, I birthed you.
