It is over a month after your eleventh birthday. Logistically, I should have had all the time in the world to write your annual birthday letter, but I’ve felt…blocked. Something about the state of the world being the way that it is has me feeling like I’m lacking in positivity or wisdom or anything of levity or importance to share with you.
I am certain you will never forget turning eleven. You asked to make cupcakes together for our family, which we then hand delivered to them the day before your birthday. It was our first time out of the confines of our neighborhood in almost an entire month. You wore gloves and placed them carefully in mailboxes, waving at our loved ones from a safe enough distance away. Your younger brother dissolved into noisy hiccupy tears as soon as he realized he wasn’t allowed to get out of the car and play with your cousins. We blasted the Hamilton soundtrack to drown out the sound (and our own commiserative sadness). I painstakingly made an exploding sprinkle cake and blew up balloons and tried desperately to salvage some measurable level of birthday magic, culminating with Chinese food take out and a Zoom “party” with our family and friends which was as strange as it was sweet. I pleaded with people in our lives far and wide to send you a birthday message to brighten your mood and the resulting video was over twenty minutes long. If you only remember one thing about that day, I hope it is how fully you were loved.
You’re at a bit of a funny age, my girl. Caught somewhere in the in between of big and little. All this extra time together has made that disparity all the more clear. Some days, you hide away in your room, FaceTiming with friends and sighing loudly at whatever requests we shout up the stairs. Other days involve unsolicited snuggles on the couch and feeling like you’ve become my shadow once again.
A few weeks ago, you sent me a text from your iPod late at night that read “I can’t fall asleep can you come in here please and rub my back or sing or something”. I was taken aback because this is not a normal request of yours. Weirdly honored, I clambered in to bed with you, pushing and kicking away a combination of stuffed animals, journals, graphic novels and scribbled song lyrics (your latest, most surprising past time) to make room. I rubbed your back and waited patiently for your breathing to deepen and slow, feeling your angular limbs somehow soften and fold themselves inward towards me. Transported back to the sliver of mothering that I like best- the quiet watching, anticipating, comforting.
I knew entering in to this new decade of your life would present all sorts of new challenges, I alluded to as much in your last birthday letter. I did not, could not, have anticipated living with you through a global pandemic. Trying to figure out how to support you as exciting plans and beloved traditions and parts of our normal life were peeled away, slowly and then all at once. I hope you remember the way I snuck a thin layer of Nutella into the center of your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at lunchtime, careful not to let your brother see. I hope you remember the way I said I was sorry after I lost my temper for the ten thousandth time, because there is a lesson in all that imperfection and trying again. I hope you remember joining me on after dinner walks through the neighborhood and our brief but brilliant attempt at a 1,000 piece puzzle. I hope you remember the few times you’ve asked me to lay next to you at night since that first time, because I often crave that closeness just like you.
This year, you’ve developed a love of A&E programming- specifically Hoarders and Live PD. I don’t know if this is a parenting failure or a success, but I guess time will tell. You played basketball for the first time on your school team and I radiated with pride watching your fearlessness and persistence in a sport you knew nothing about with teammates who were almost exclusively older than you. You stood up to a bully earlier in the school year and the way you still talk about how good it felt to do the right thing makes me certain that I’ve gotten something right. We visited the Kennedy Space Center and the wonder on your face made the decision to still travel to Florida several days after I had emergency surgery absolutely worth it. Everyone who knows you tells me that you are cool and funny and kind and in my estimation, these are some of the best things to be.
The more you grow, the less I feel like I have my finger resting on the pulse of you and the more enigmatic you become. I’m still figuring out how to navigate that incongruity and the startling push and pull of you needing me and also yearning to be independent knocks me off of my feet sometimes. I’m doing the very best I can and I know that you are, too.
Happy 11th Birthday, my sweet girl. You are, as always, the very best thing to happen to your Mama.
