I keep thinking maybe I’ll run out of words because sometimes when I look at her my breath catches in my throat.
And maybe it’s not so much so she will know, but because I need to know. I need to reassure myself I’m not missing something; I am still aware of this spunky little gift who never lets me use the bathroom in peace.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll get to keep her this close; under my foot and within my shadow. It didn’t last nearly long enough the first time around, so this time, I soak it up (most days).
So today we celebrate her, our little Beanie-bell, the spitfire, the truth-teller, the silly-song singer, the fastest scooterer, the magic in the room. We celebrate how she completed our little family five years ago, how she slipped into this world and from that moment gathered us in like wildflowers.
She is magnetic and charming, mischievous and bold. I love to listen to her talk, because her mind is a secret garden, a tangle of dandelions and hidden doors and unlikely adventure and glow-in-the-dark enchantment. Everything is real to her and everything is magical, and boy, what a way for a tired, stretched-thin grown-up to see this world.
I wonder sometimes if this world is ready for her; I wonder if it will be kind, and soft, and forgiving. I never want her to lose the way she marvels at clouds and pinecones and fireflies. I never want her to believe the world is harsh and vengeful, greedy and mean. I want her to trust the good stuff, that there’s enough of it out there to far overwhelm the things that are hard. I want her to love this world, to see it and love it in all of the broken places and to know she was made to help it mend. I want her to realize her own smallness in this wide, wild universe, that she is the very favorite girl to only a handful of people out of billions, and that she takes up very little space on earth and in time. I want her to know that space and believe she can leave it better, brighter, more whole and healed.
I want her to know she is joy, she is heart, she is beauty, she is warmth.
It’s her birthday, but this is my wish.
Happy fifth, Bean. I. Love. You.