my dear ramona marilyn,
you are now one!
that was the fastest year of my life. it flew by. seriously.
you, of course, are still the same little girl that entered this world one year ago, except now you can walk and talk and feed yourself. it’s quite amazing, actually. and every new day and milestone is more and more fun than the last. i love who you are.
one revolution around the sun. four seasons. 52 weeks. 366 days (it was a leap year this year). my dear, it is strange, the effects of time. i can already imagine you and i talking over coffee when you are in high school; or sharing a cheese plate and a bottle of wine when you are home visiting from college or travels. of course, there are many more revolutions between now and then, but, at times, i canot help myself but fast forward.
sometimes, i think, if only i could slow it all down, would i want to? no. where we are –the pace we are going– this is how it is meant to be. it is so much fun (too much fun!) watching you grow and learn and try and figure out the world around you.
at one point you wouldn’t even open your mouth to applesauce or you would make yourself gag over my purees (i don’t really blame you, i suppose). now you gobble up pretty much everything we put in front of you.
not too long ago you couldn’t walk. overnight, it seems, you are scurrying all over the place. walking. running. climbing. we had to figure out shoes for you and quick!
and talking! before it was a series of blahblahblahs and dahdahdahs. now it’s duck! and dog! and cheese! and shoes! and yes! and oooohhhh! and sometimes you’ll even woof and roar.
you are, undeniably, a happy child. you have the gowiththeflow of your father and the stubborn spunk of your mother. you laugh, giggle, smile, mimic, beam, exclaim, engage, hug, kiss. you seek out and sit on laps and that is, perhaps, what i don’t want to change. i want to be able to hold and protect and envelop you for much longer than i know will be possible, both physically and practically.
one day our conversations will become more than you pointing to your belly, your head, your nose, and your toes (which you do so well). and it will go beyond us teaching you rights and wrongs and goods and bads and all the fun and confusing gray stuff in between the blacks and whites. either way, i’m cherishing these moments now, as they come and as they go. and i look forward to sitting down with you and looking back on it all. just as my mama and i do when her and i visit.
i love you, minka moo. love, mamaeleven, nine, seven, five, three, one, birth. this will be the last monthly letter i publish here for her. i will, however, find other excuses to write her letters and share them with you.*