She is nine. She turned nine a week ago while we were at the beach. We feted her with spaghetti and with chocolate mint mousse cake. I was stopped in my tracks when she mentioned being ten next year.
Oh, this girl. She is my all-or-nothing, black-or-white, up-is-down and down-is-up, full of love and full of angst, mature yet still-so-young child. There are days that I think that being her mother is my greatest test in this life, and then a few minutes later, my greatest joy. She is compassionate and loving, quick to anger and a nurser of grudges. She is passionate about everything while still convinced that there's nothing to do other than watch TV. She grasps complexity way beyond her years in an instant, but declares herself to not know a thing. She is fiercely independent, but is mama's little girl. She is my bundle of contradictions and I love her to pieces.
Annika, there's so much I want to say. But all I'll say here is that I understand you and am here for you. We're far more alike than you know. I am so full of love and hopes and dreams for you. I can't wait to see you find your place and your passion and make your mark on the world. I am so very grateful to be your mother. You help me be a better person and a better mother, every day.
Love,
Mama
