Today you turn seven years old, baby girl. I can’t believe it. Seven is not a toddler. It’s not a preschooler. It’s not even a small kid. It’s a verifiable big kid who can go places and do things all on their own.
This is insane to me. In my head, you’re still the little girl I saw for the first time on Holy Thursday. You’re still the baby that handed me her doll when I came over for the first time. You’re still the sweet little one I would hug that summer and to whom I would whisper how much I would always love you because even if I wasn’t around forever I wanted you to maybe have a flash of a memory of how much I loved you.
But things worked out and you’re my seven-year-old now. And I have never been given a more precious gift than when God and Daddy gave me the chance to be your mommy.
I have had six birthdays with you, made six cakes, blown up six million balloons, thrown six parties. I have gotten you up and sung happy birthday to you six times. I have cuddled you a little bit longer for six years because on today of all days the years seem to be going faster.
I wrote last week about how I try to be thankful for my life, just being here, and your birthday makes me renew that pledge. Your mama only got to spend one birthday with you, the one where she gave you life and welcomed you into the world. I am forever cogniscent of each and every precious birthday I get to celebrate with you, my beautiful daughter.
Being your (and your brother’s, but this is your day) mommy is the best thing I’ve ever gotten to do. Watching you grow into a beautiful daughter of God is the greatest thing I will ever do. Your soul is my greatest jewel and honor, and I am so thankful that I get to be here to help get you to heaven.
I can’t wait to see what you do this year, precious one.