A Birthday Letter: Twelve

My dearest Daisy, 

I have been chewing on this letter for some time my love. This year has been tough for me. I'm at a loss for words that properly capture exact feelings - but, to be honest, it's a bit of depression, a bit of reflection, a lot of joy, and a focus on gratitude. 

The thing is, the years and the experiences are coming so fast and furious these days. I just want to stop and breathe. Drink it all in. When you were a newborn, when we were brand-new in our relationship, I would sit and memorize your features. I'd sit and trace the lines in your palm. I'd work to make you laugh and watch how your eyes would twinkle just before your smile would appear. During your afternoon nap, I would lay and watch the slow rise and fall of your breath. 

These days, I look at you, on the cusp of your teenage years, and I still see that twinkle in your eye, although it's sometimes accompanied by a solid eye roll too. Instead of an afternoon nap, we do buddy reads or sing-alongs in the car. You have a tennis ranking and tap shoes and cross-country meets. You have play practice and swim meets and piano recitals. You solve algebra problems and write essays about the fall of the Roman Empire. You sit at the piano for hours playing Harry Styles and Bruno Mars songs by ear. I still see glimpses of my baby, but your adolescence is suddenly becoming fleeting. 

In college, I studied abroad in Ireland. After my first few days in Dublin, I was itching to explore which is how I found myself staring at the massive cliffs of Moher. This is the point where Ireland's gentle green landscape is pounded by the full force of the Atlantic Ocean. Individual layers can clearly be seen and variations in the rates of erosion give rise to the different characteristics of the cliffs. I found myself drawn to this coast, visiting as many times as I could during my months abroad. Always astounded by the beautiful, rugged, wild beauty of the western coastline. 

A few weeks ago, you and I found ourselves on an overnight retreat at Point Bonito in Sausalito. In the early morning, both of us were up and itching to explore the rugged California coastline. We walked along, traversing the bluffs of the Marin headlands. It was steep, craggy, and breathtaking. We oohed and ahh-ed over every twist. We breathed in the salty, fresh air. 

L.M. Montgomery wrote in Anne's House of Dreams, "The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only - a mighty voice that drowns out souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is the company of the archangels." Many of Montgomery's words are seared into my heart as I read her stories from start to finish and back again so many times in my youth. But, as we stood there, on that spot of earth, holding hands at the edge of the land; I found myself again astounded by the beautiful, rugged, wild beauty of this western coastline - still and quiet - listening to its magnificent song. 

When we headed back to the car, you fell back, lingering - staring out at the edge. I saw that twelve is the tipping point between childhood and adolescence. At twelve years old you are strong, adventurous, and tenacious. You are clever. You are brave. You are thoughtful, creative, and self-assured. You are inquisitive, and you are persistent and effervescent. You are empathetic. You are merciful. You are enthusiastic. 

And I find myself in awe of you, my beautiful, rugged, breathtaking girl. 

Love, Momma