A Birthday Letter: Nine and one quarter

Dear Daisy,

101 days ago, you turned nine years old, and I have been staring at a blinking cursor and blank page looking for the words to craft your perfect birthday letter. Part of the reason for this tardy birthday letter is just the sheer abnormalities of this spring. Our family has been a bit battered from these past few months, just on top of our normally hectic schedule: softball, ballet, piano, swim, end-of-school year festivities. But, more than that, I have been struggling to write this letter because I see you on the cusp of something different. Something bigger. And I cannot articulate what and how, and this frustrates me as I pride myself on being a wordsmith by nature.

Nine is multiplication tables, flash cards and spelling words. Nine is poetry, graphs and geometry. Nine is Roald Dahl, Charlotte’s Web and Little House on the Prairie. Nine is softball, tennis and swim team. Nine are major and minor scales and pop songs on the piano. Nine is impossibly funny, incredibly helpful and increasingly independent. Nine is aloof, grumpy and sarcastic. Nine is social. Nine is strong, agile and fast. Nine is forever and always making a playlist. Nine is furiously writing in her journal. Nine is curious and philosophical. Nine is defiant, beautiful and full of surprise.

Truth be told, turning nine has been hard. Nine is moody and temperamental, kind and silly – all with a fierce eyeroll – and in the span of hours before we start the cycle over again. And the back and forth, up and down, makes parenting a bit more emotionally challenging. But, then, during your final weeks of school, due to a sick sister, you asked if you could ride your bike to and from school. Alone. I fretted for a few minutes, silently running through a variety of alternatives, and I agreed. I stood on the driveway while you clipped your helmet, noticing your long legs wobbling for balance, your ponytail sticking out from under your helmet, your battered black backpack hoisted on your back, I understood that nine is hard. You are on the cusp of adolescence – teetering between this little kid and a grown-up girl. You yearn for independence but are a bit unsure how to proceed with it. You are this truly amazing mixture of awkward and elegant, gentle and fiery, self-possessed and petrified.

As your mom, I want to foster this independence. It’s one of the greatest gifts my own parents gave to me, and I am only understanding how hard it can be. I need to learn to give you space. I need to give you room to grow; the chance to make your own mistakes. And so, for your birthday letter, I want to leave you with one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite writers: Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road. -Jack Kerouac

I love you more than all the stars in the sky, and all the water in the ocean.

Love, Momma