My daughter is two tomorrow. My heart is in shreds. She is my baby.
I cannot describe the pain shooting through my heart tonight. There really are no words. And there doesn’t seem to be a logical explanation as to why age two is harder for me to accept than age one was.
She was a gorgeous baby. And she was a gorgeous one-year-old: big expressive eyes, a huge smile, soft blonde hair, a silver tutu studded with sparkly stars… she was a twinkling burst of wonder. But she was still my baby.
Now… now my little Edith is two. Her soft blonde hair has grown into ringlets that frame her tiny neck – her eyes are an emboldened blue – full of purpose and flaming with sparks of joy. Her teeth are tiny and in perfect little rows – on display when her lips part with the smile of impish mischief.
I’ve been preparing a little party for her, nothing big, but a little celebration for her, her brother and her cousins tomorrow. Her newest love is the rainbow. So I’ve made a little rainbow themed afternoon. Her big brother and I went to the store to pick out the sprinkles to shape a rainbow onto a cake that will be topped with waves of baby-blue buttercream icing. The gift bags for her little cousins have little toy balls that light up when they hit the ground, all of them different colors and hues like the rainbow. Edith loves balls. She loves shoes. She loves granola bars. But what doesn’t she love? Almost nothing. My little girl is aglow with the embers of life and light – I can almost see them exude through her baby-soft cheeks. Life itself thrills her. Her joy refuses to be contained.
I have always been a melancholy person. My daughter and I have never approached life the same way: I see doubt, she sees delight; I see darkness, she sees the moon. But Edith inspires me. She always has. From the very beginning, my little girl has had to fight hard for her life. At three weeks old, she landed in the hospital for RSV. She was on oxygen, her own hacking cough scared her, and when the doctor discharged her he told us not to let her sleep unattended, so my husband and I took shifts propping our eyelids open with mindless TV for hours on end while our daughter slept upright in her carseat beside us.
She developed severe gastro-intestinal reflux in the hospital, and a week later landed back in the Urgent Care when she began vomiting blood. The months after were a nightmare of oxygen tanks and sleeplessness as my poor child cried through the pain of a burning esophagus and cramping belly.
And yet, she fought. She pulled through. She grew, she smiled, she cooed, and she crawled. She fought so hard she learned to take nothing for granted, and the world around her became cause for celebration and smiles.
Today, if you look into my daughter’s eyes, you will see a world of merriment. But you will also see strength. My daughter took darkness and turned it into light; she took pain and turned it into joy. She is intensely emotional. She will let me know when she’s upset, and when she’s happy. But I will never be in doubt of how she feels. Though sometimes I have called her emotions ‘uncontrollable,’ and ‘fragile,’ I am learning to see them differently: they are purposeful. She knows when to celebrate, and when to be sorrowful. She knows what brings her joy, and what burdens her heart. My daughter is not yet two. I am 30. And yet… and yet I can draw from the wisdom of my child.
I can’t believe I have to let my baby go and usher her toddlerhood in. I can barely handle my own fragile emotions. But because of her, I will celebrate. Because of her enthusiasm, I will be enthusiastic too. Because of her smiles, I will smile too.
Rainbows and stars represent her perfectly. Magical, bright, full of mystery and burning intensity, always there, and always beautiful, my little Edith dazzles the world right there beside them. Before I turn to the stars for inspiration, I will turn to her. Before I look to rainbows, I will look to my daughter; brave, buoyant and beautiful, and full of understanding of the true meaning of joy in a broken world.
Tomorrow, my daughter will greet me with a great big grin and chipper ‘good morning!’ as she clambers into my bed. And as she lays her head on my chest with a sweet hug of affection, my whole being will hug her back. And while I will beg her not to go, I will say to myself, ‘By all means, Child, go, be your beautiful self. Grow. Blossom, and become who you were meant to be; a victor bearing the flame of indefatigable joy.
I love you, my little Edith. Happy birthday.