Yet Another Half Birthday Love Letter

Dear Anneliese,
Here we are again. Your half-birthday. And I'm writing yet another love letter, yet another attempt to tell you how much I love you and why, all while knowing it's still mostly impossible to articulate. But knowing I can never fully explain it is a really bad reason for not trying anyway.

So, I try.

Because I want you to know that your smile still melts my heart. That there's no better sight than you bouncing and racing toward me for a hug, and no better feeling than your arms around me and the weight of your head on my shoulder. That your curls in the sunlight bring tears sometimes. That your smell -- grubby and slobbery and sweet -- makes me a little lovedrunk.

And because I am so proud of you, sweetie. What we call feistyness or stubbornness is a beautiful strong spirit who doesn't easily give up, isn't scared to try new things, and is so determined to do them well. You're bright and independent and already at this tender age have struck a lovely balance between going after what excites you, and managing to stay charming to others while you do it. My heart swells. I can't wait to see these things manifest in you as a young adult. You will make the world better, little lady. I know it.

And because later when you and Nathan won't stop bickering, I want you to know that in this season, you were the best of friends. You follow him everywhere, you love what he loves, he listens so patiently to you, and you admire him like no one else in your life. You two have a beautiful thing going on, and I adore it. (Speaking of lovedrunk Mommy.)

I want you to know how happy you make others. A friend recently told me when asked to think of the handful of people who seem the most happy, you came to mind first. You, Anneliese. You're only two (and a half!) but you are happy, and it's contagious, and as your mama who knows something about mental well-being (and not-so-well being), I know how valuable that is. Bringing out the happy in others, helping them see it and find it in themselves, is a gift. Please never underestimate it, and keep smiling. At your family. At your friends. At strangers. We all smile back. And thank you for that.

I want you to know that I love how you remind me to buckle up every time we get in the car. Your good eating. Your great sleeping. Your tenderness taking care of Hattie and Jingle and your dolls. The fact that some mornings you choose your outfit based on what I'm wearing. Our grocery shopping trips. Your narration of the already-obvious things you do: I runnin! I naked! I drawin! I poopin! I have on the jeans! I buildin legos! Your index finger curled over your nose when you suck your thumb. The way you call anything I'm drinking that you're not allowed to touch, mommy's juice. Your fondness for a new pair of sandals. Your tiny voice singing songs with me. The repeated night night love you night nights that come through your door after we put you in bed. The wake up me that comes again in the morning.

A choir friend said last summer that she believes there's always a special place between a mom and the child of a surprise pregnancy. That that child is God's child. Not that all moms and children don't have special bonds, and not that all children aren't God's children, but I think she might be right on some level. I love all of you differently, and am bonded to you each in your own ways. Nathan made me a mommy, and Charlotte is the baby I hoped for when I had context for such a hope. But you, my middle baby, the special way I love you is maybe because I wasn't expecting it. You continuously surprise me and upturn what I think my expectations are. You're so much better than I knew to dream for, baby girl.

I might not be able to explain to you exactly how this love feels, but I want you to know I feel it.

Night night love you night night. I love you so much, Anneliese.

Love,
Mommy