You used to be tiny. So tiny you fit on my shoulder and when you cried, I could sing “You Are My Sunshine” to lull you into calm. When you fell asleep in the car, we could carefully unbuckle you and whisk you to the Rock N Play to sleep.
You’re still small, and you hate when people call you cute. Now, when I carry you, your feet dangle to my knees. Sometimes when you’re tired or sad, you’ll still request the “Sunshine Song” and I will always sing it, no matter what. You don’t often fall asleep on the ride home anymore (that stubborn streak you get from me) but when you do, we have to carefully weave your gangly limbs out of that car seat harness and pray you stay asleep as we lay you in bed.
That blanket, made with love by the kind hands of MawMaw used to dwarf you. You played hide & seek for the first time with that pink blanket. George & that blanket we’re all we needed for a successful night’s sleep.
Six years blasted by and now your feet hang out from beneath that well loved blanket; we have to supplement your blanket with one of the many quilts that have been made for you. George is still in sight, but he’s not cuddled quite as much.
Last month, you hit another milestone. First grade. Your first year of school and I’m not sure either of us is truly ready. I have every confidence in you. Your kind heart and winning personality will open so many doors. I pray the innocence in which you see the world remains intact. May you continue to be the bright spot in other’s days.
In these moments, I pray that I have taught you self worth—that you never falter in knowing who you are. I hope that in the days ahead when you come face to face with something you don’t know that you have the tools to persist and find the answer. May you always be a voice for the voiceless, use your power for the powerless, and lead with the fierceness deep within you.