Well, today marks your seventh glorious year on this here earth, Miss N . And I can't believe it's been that long. Time really does fly, and it flies by entirely too fast when you're a parent. It's funny, actually. You're terrified when you first become a parent because it really is venturing into the unknown. You can't be sure you'll be good at it, or if your children will turn out well, and it's not exactly one of those things you can return if buyer's remorse sets in. Then, you feel like the baby years will never end and like you'll never sleep again (and you won't). Years later, you miss all of that and realize the kid is growing up way too fast. And then you have a mid-life crisis, which daddy hopes to have in about ten years time. But no matter the phase or age of your children, parenthood is a full-time, rest of your life job. The way I feel about you is the way your grandma feels about me, and the way my grandma felt about her. I adore you. Adore isn't even a strong enough word for it. Being your daddy has been the greatest blessing. It's taught me a lot, it's (arguably) made me a better human being, and that is all a credit to you. Guuuurl, I was a hot mess before you came along. And when you came along, I was not in a position to be a parent. But, as you may learn someday if you have little ones of your own, you hold your breath and you charge ahead and you hope you can do right by the amazing little person you've created.
Thus far, I think you and I have done alright. I mean, we're both still alive so that's good. Most days we have our stuff together. On the days that we don't, or on the bad days, we still manage to find our way through. I've written to you on or around your birthday so many times (2, 3, 4, 5, 6), but this one feels...different. As you enter your seventh year, I can feel our family on the verge of all kindsa change. This is a different season we're entering, perhaps even more unknown than the early years. You're not a baby anymore, you're not a munchkin anymore, you're...well, a kid. In that weird zone between being a munchkin and becoming, *shudder*, a pre-teen. You don't think dad is as super cool as you did when you were little. In fact, you often roll your eyes at me on like a teenage level, the same way the teenager used to when she was actually a teenager. Someday you're gonna make a fella feel sooooo stupid about something with just an eye roll, girl. You went through a very girly phase last year where mom was just everything to you and dad was just meh. You liked dresses and you liked shoes even more, which I didn't think was possible. But you've since settled back into riding the line between girly girl and tomboy. I introduced you to the original Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers in the last year and it rocked your world, which was awesome to see. You think I'm cool for that, or at least you pretend you do, so thank you for either throwing me a bone or legit thinking I'm neat. As you get older, it's trippy to see which parts of you come from mom and which ones come from me. You're very much a thinker, always have been, but even more so lately. That, you get from me. You love to sit in your room and daydream. That, you can thank your mother for. You sometimes have trouble holding your tongue. That, you get from both of us (sorry). You tell it like it is and you don't care who you're telling it to. It'd be hilarious if you weren't my kid. Okay, it's still hilarious sometimes. We'll work on figuring out when to keep our mouths shut together.
Another thing that has changed for us in the last year is the addition of Gio to our little family. And you lucked out (hell, we both did, he be awesome). You have three parents in your life who absolutely adore you and would do anything for you. Someday, I hope you'll have four. But for now, this is the state of our clan and it's a pretty awesome state to be in. We're happy and things are stable that's important, and it's something your mother and I have both always strived for. Your health and safety are the most important thing to us (your happiness...meh). Nobody, and especially no parent, is perfect but I hope that someday when you look back at this time in your life, you feel like it was good. Your mom had a not so great childhood, and it's very important to her that yours is the polar opposite. So far, so good. I mean, I'm sure there's something we've already done that's scarred you for life and that you'll someday attribute all of your problems to whilst you're speaking to a qualified professional. But we like to think we've done awesome so far. We're the bestest, kinda ok, relatively decent parents ever. You should remember to tell the shrink that too.
In closing, you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me, Miss N. If you never feel that from anyone else, always know you will feel it from me. I think you're the best thing ever. I hope someday you find someone you love and live for as much as I do you. And I hope this next year is the best of your young life. With any luck, there will be more guitar sessions and random karaoke sessions for you and I. More family holidays back home with the crazy people we're unfortunately related to. More Starbucks dates where we continue to try and learn how to play chess the right way, instead of making up stories about the pieces and knocking them off the board. More brunches and lazy Sundays. More travel, more love and more laughs. Because all of that is what makes life worth living. In a lot of ways, you and I are raising each other. I'm turning you into a halfway functional adult and you're turning me into...a halfway functional adult. And I wouldn't want it any other way. I love you, kid.
