Experiments in Life Because Sometimes Science Screws Up!

To Emily: On Your 2nd Birthday

To My Little Emily:

Now you are two. My how those two years have flown. You have grown so much in these past two years that it all seems like a blur. I can remember carrying you in my womb, giving birth to you, and bringing you home for the first time. You have come a long way since then. It seems like yesterday you were beginning to crawl and taking your first steps. We have since moved on to first words and now short sentences. It will not be long before you are telling us exactly what you think about everything when you think it. Although I look forward to the many firsts we have yet to encounter, it is bittersweet at the same time. I miss the little Emily wrapped up in a fluffy towel snuggling into my lap right after bath. I miss the Emily that I could carry and swing around with the greatest of ease. These days, your legs dangle past my knees when I pick you up. I am glad you are a happy, growing girl but the time is going by too fast.

I watch you every day and try to committ it all to memory. I don't ever want to forget the way you come running up to me after a day at school or the way you smile and laugh with your father. I especially love the wrestling matches and tickle fests that you and your dad engage in. Every morning I look forward to seeing your smiling face and hearing your sweet voice. Even though I know the day will certainly have its share of tears and "no's"; I know that your infectious laughter will also be plentiful. I love the way you are surprised at the simplest thing, like bugs and water, and how you shout "Airpane!" when you look up at the sky-even if there isn't one. One of my favorites is when you see something you find amazing, look back at me with a surprised look on your face and say "Whoa!". You are becoming imaginative and starting to pretend on your own. That process has been amazing to watch. You make me laugh at so many things and appreciate things even more. Seeing the world through the eyes of a child is a wonderful thing.

I jokingly say to friends and family that you can't be my child because you don't like to get dirty or paint or play in the water. But the truth is, you are my child, and I would never change that. You are mine, your father's, you are ours. That will never change, no matter how much you might wish that when you are a teenager. I now understand all those quotes and stories about motherhood. You are my heart. Letting go is and will be the hardest thing I ever have to do. Already I have had to let go of the baby you use to be and accept the strong-willed toddler saying "Help" at the top of her lungs, which is your equivalent of saying "I can do it myself". Come August, we will be letting go of the little girl in diapers and accepting the big girl who no longer needs them. Even though I try to encourage your independence, it is a double-edged sword. Part of my job as a mother is to ensure your health and well-being as a child, and help you grow into a mature, well-adjusted, productive adult. However, that part of my job conflicts directly with the other part of my job, to love you and protect you from any number of things, no matter how big or small the threat. I only hope that you one day will understand these things for yourself.

It is amazing to me to see the parts that your father and I passed on to you. You have my nose and your father's eyes, and our red hair. You have many of your father's personality traits, including his stubborness, and my inability to sit still for more than five seconds. It is interesting to see the results of your father and I squished into one tiny little person who also has a personality of her own. I look forward to watching your personality develop and I cannot wait to meet the person you are destined to be. But for now, you are mine, and I will treasure every minute of it.

You are my little girl, my baby, my angel now and forever.

I love you, Emily, so very much. We both do.

Happy Birthday.