She’s four today. It’s really hard to believe. She wasn’t sure after so many days of counting down if today was really it. But it is. Today she’s four and in four sweet years she’s taught me how to live better.
She’s taught me that it’s okay to wear whatever I want, or rather, to let her wear whatever she wants because in the grand scheme of motherhood, arguing about matching is not always worth my energy.
She’s taught me to use my attributes and work my assets the way she works her really great hair.
She’s taught me to love fiercely with no idea that a hug could ever be too tight.
She’s taught me to laugh all the time, to rediscover my imagination and to find silliness in everyday.
She’s taught me to color to my own beat even though, at four, she’s stopped humming while she draws. It makes me sad. I miss the nonsensical tunes that used to accompany the dramatic shading of Winnie the Pooh.
She’s taught me not to boss my friends because it’s not nice and they won’t want to play with you.
In four years time, she’s made me a better mother and she’s let me try and fail to parent her with what worked before when the sisters were passing through the same stages. She’s let me learn over and over that every child is unique and perfect in their own quirky way.
She’s made me a writer. It was in the days before and the many days after she came that I waded my way into the blogging world. It’s often because of her, and the lessons I’m learning, that I stay.