Miss Six

At 12:37pm today, you took your very first breaths. You didn't cry. You sneezed; you blinked.

Happy Birthday, baby girl. Today you finally get to be six!

You're all legs and lyrics. Your hair is turning a darker shade of blonde and it delights you. You so badly want to be a brunette like your Mama. You have an astonishing memory and the uncanny ability to say precisely the right thing at the right time. You make everyone around you, better. Horses, music, your stuffies, art, and quality time with your village continue to be your love languages. Kindergarten has made you evolve into this worldly creature full of knowledge, brimming with opinions and explanations. You challenge me. You push me. You amaze me.

While it doesn't seem possible you have been here for six long years already, it seems even more impossible that I was given the greatest gift when you tested those lungs out the very first time, that I was given you. We get along famously. We're simple like that. I treat you like an adult for the most part, well, like your very own person at least and you respect that role, mostly. Sure, we have our epic horn-locking from time to time, because A) we're female B) our lineage and C) it's the mother-daughter relationship cliche. I still need to loosen up when it comes to meals. You're a picky little vegetarian and the aperture of your food lens is constantly decreasing. You're a bit (a big bit) of a hoarder/collector/engineer/inventor. I love to purge, purge, purge, and restore natural order in our home. I casually ask your Dad what he thinks we'll be like in three years, and in seven. He says he doesn't want to know. Challenge accepted.

I no longer cry on December 7ths. Well- maybe when my heart feels like it's going to burst because in the middle of opening gifts, you throw you arms toward Heaven and scream, "This is the best birthday ever!" and I know you mean it because at six, you still unabashedly tell the truth. Lying is still (blissfully) an inability of yours. That makes me cry because it's sweet and pure. I no longer cry at the fear of you growing up. I'll admit I took toddlerhood and preschool years personally. I accept it now, damnit. I welcome it. I cherish it.

And, as ever, some lyrics for you. Perhaps a bit too gritty for my sweet six year old, but you get the gist;

Silver Lining
by Kacey Musgraves

Woke up on the wrong side of rock bottom
Throw a lot of pennies in a well
That done run dry
Light up and smoke 'em if you have 'em
But you just ain't got 'em
Yeah ain't we always looking
For a bluer sky

If you're ever gonna find a silver lining
It's gotta be a cloudy day
It's gotta be a cloudy day 
If you wanna fill your bottle up with lightning
You're gonna have to stand in the rain
You're gonna have to stand in the rain

Hoo hoo hoooo 
Hoo

If lemonade keeps turning into lemons
And you wear your heart on a ripped
Unraveled sleeve
Been run through the wringer
And pushed on to your limit
Say you're just unlucky
But luck ain't what you need

'Cause if you're ever gonna find
A four leaf clover
You gotta get a little dirt on your hands
You gotta get a little dirt on your hands
And if you wanna find a head 
That fits your shoulder
You're gonna have to go to the dance
You're gonna have to go to the dance

If you wanna find the honey
You can't be scared of the bees
And if you wanna see the forest
You're gonna have to look past trees

If you're ever gonna find a silver lining
It's gotta be a cloudy day
It's gotta be a cloudy day
If you wanna fill your bottle up with lightning
You're gonna have to stand in the rain
You're gonna have to stand in the rain

It's an absolute pleasure being your Mama. I could fill an entire college-lined, kitten-covered notebook with the reason that make it true. But I don't need to. Your eyes have seen my liner notes, your soul has breathed their weight, and your heart pumps the density.

Happiest of days to you, Miss Six.
I triple-puffy heart you.
More than Starbucks.
Have a great year. The best yet.

Mama loves.