Not that reminding is needed. There is quite literally a moment of every day where you pop into my head and I am filled with a rush of warmth and my face breaks into a smile because I am so incredibly grateful for you and just thinking of the (not so) little (anymore) person that is my daughter knocks my socks off, because you are so uniquely you.
You continue to be a myriad of contradictions – refusing to wear dresses while being the girliest of girls. Wanting me to paint your fingernails only to immediately peel the paint off. Wanting to live in my lap while being our child most capable of independent play for extended periods of time. You are brave and yet tender-hearted. You are brilliant but not show-off-y. You are competitive, but an awesome sport. You are adamantly independent but give hugs with a ferocity that sometimes makes me think you will never let go.
You love a good card game, and are always an eager sous chef (and taste tester). You are a super picky eater, but will eat a serving of canned green beans and ask for seconds. Much like your love for canned carrots, I find this confusing, but don’t dare question it. You are cold almost all the time, but insist on only sleeping under the flimsiest of blankets at bedtime. You insist I be the one to do your hair in the mornings, but almost NEVER let me play with it or put it up in a braid or ponytail.
I genuinely cannot believe that you are mine, because I cannot, for the life of me, think of what I could have done to deserve you. I must have been pretty freaking amazing in some prior life and being your mama must be my reward.
I ran my first (only?) marathon this year in Chicago. You made me the most amazing signs and went all across the city to cheer me on. But once it was over and we met near the finish line, reunited to walk the half mile or so back to the hotel, with me barely able to step without wincing and with legs trembling like jello, you spent the entire walk back telling me how much your legs hurt and how tired you were. I looked at your Dad and said “I imagine what I am feeling is the same feeling other women feel when their husbands talk about how tired they are in the delivery room,” because I was overwhelmed by my ever present and almost all consuming love for you, but so help me, I was almost equally overwhelmed by the desire to put you in a cab headed in the opposite direction and send you packing. I was sure that someday I would think of you fondly, but equally certain that I was not capable of such forgiving feelings at the present moment.
Fortunately, I had some lingering endorphins (and you had Mamaw as backup), and we all made it back in one piece.
You are content to play in your room by yourself or with Cooper and have walls separate us, but if you happen to come downstairs for something and see that I am going to leave the house – for an errand or to go for a run – you will immediately scowl and ask me why I have to leave. Had the timing been only slightly different – had I already left or waited to go until after you went back upstairs – you wouldn’t have even registered my absence. You don’t need me right beside you, but you hate knowing I am not within earshot. I suppose that isn’t a bad thing, and I will hope, as you get older, you continue to take comfort in knowing I am there if you need me (and, God help us, the day is soon coming when you will have a cell phone and physical distance can be overcome near instantly).
You are so totally Daphne – so completely you – and we wouldn’t have you any other way.
I continue to strive to do right by you – to be a better mom, girl, example… and I know I do not always get it right, but seeing the amazing, strong, brilliant, hilarious, caring, thoughtful person you are makes me feel like I am on the right track.
You are my heart, and I love you completely and always no matter what.
Happy birthday, my dear. I am so proud of you.
