To Bea, on Her 10th Birthday

Bea Marie,

The day we found out you were coming to live with us—at least for the time being—my heart held many secrets I couldn’t say out loud. We had already fallen head over heels in love with your rapidly growing little sister, and when Miss Abby asked if we’d be willing to welcome you into our home, it was an easy yes. Maybe the easiest yes we’ve ever said.

I’d only laid eyes on you a few times, and every single time I saw you, your smile was as wide as the ocean, your eyes just as blue as the waters we swam in this week in Grand Cayman. All I could think when we said yes was how if the fates allowed, two sisters would have each other forever. I wanted that for you—for us.

What great luck and fortune that things worked out the way they did. Like Noah’s Ark, our family travels two by two because everyone has a partner, and you were the missing piece.

The road we’ve traveled has been long and dusty. Sometimes we’ve moved boulders out of the way, and other times we’ve had to step around potholes, but the walking has been wonderful because we’re doing it together.

I have said many times that Will made me a mom and Ben made me feel like I was a good one. If I pull on that thread a little more, I think the best way to describe the gift you’ve given me is to say that you’ve peeled back layers of my heart that I didn’t know needed peeling. You’ve exposed a tender vulnerability that was always there but rarely made its way to the surface. You’ve taught me what it looks like to feel, and I mean really feel. You model joy and grit and whimsy and outrage—sometimes all in the same conversation.

Your heart is soft and pliable like playdough. You don’t just wear your heart on your sleeve; you carry love around and pinch off tiny pieces to give to the people you meet without worrying that your love will become too small. You know how to give love and turn around and make more.

Today, you are ten, and it’s my duty and privilege to offer you some thoughts to consider as you embrace these double digits.

1) I love you exactly the way you are, however you show up, and without expectations.

2) Do not ever accept anything less than that from anyone who says they love you—you will always be enough and never too much.

3) Stay soft. Do not let the world harden you into thinking it’s not okay to love the way you do. Remember that kind is cool—I hope your kindness begets kindness in the friends you choose and that you never put up with less than what you deserve.

4) Thank you for always trying the new thing even when your brain says “yuck” or “yikes!”

5) The days are upon us when you might think you know more or better than Mom. I promise to listen to what you think if you promise to consider that you might be wrong. I also promise to admit when I am wrong too.

6) Please forgive me if I am not my best self sometimes. I’ve never been your mom before, and I’m still learning. I can say that out loud because you’ve taught me that it’s okay to not know what I’m doing all the time.

7) You are one of the strongest, fiercest, sassiest girls I know. Use those powers for good. And when you feel like the powers might be drifting toward evil, I’ll remind you to rest.

8) Keep dancing like no one is watching, and if you see that they are, ignore them. The dancing is for you.

9) My greatest hope for you is that you will someday see the light and decide you like cheese.

10) You say you want to be a trapeze artist/animal rescuer. The answer is yes. You’ve already done things I didn’t know could be done, so why would that combo be any different? The impossible doesn’t exist for you, and I can’t wait to see what other unfathomable things you decide to do.

I made a little video of your life so far that will make all the grandparents cry. It’s a monument to the moment—we can watch you grow up in less than five minutes and wonder how on earth we let that happen.

I love you. I like you. I’m so glad you’re mine.

Love,
Mom