I will never forget what it felt like to see that positive pregnancy test. You, my sweet girl, grew us up. You grew us up into marriage, life, reality. Some days I think I am still reeling from the shock of it. One minute I was a newylwed teacher in midtown Atlanta and the next thing I know I am an at-home mom to two in the middle of suburbia.
And that life that showed up that day on the test is turning three today. And we are forever changed because of you.
My days with you are rich with all that makes up motherhood. That first year was full of diapers and late night feedings and pumping and finally nursing and swaying and shushing and hugging and kissing and cuddling and stumbling along blindly, so unsure of every move I made. A lot of times we cried together, and we learned together, and we celebrated one together. It was the milestone of all milestones--I was okay, you were okay. We were learning each other.
Year two was full of first words and then phrases. Walking and laughing and dancing and more cuddling and late nights with stomach viruses and colds and ear infections. You made your first little friends and began to love crayons and books and yogurt and cheese and outside, always outside. Year two also held another positive pregnancy test, the growing of our little family, and much sickness on my part. You were patient with me in all of my first trimester inadequacy, and we made it through. You, little girl, began to reveal so much life inside.
And this past year, year three. You have been a trooper through all this change that comes with a pregnancy and a new baby. And in the midst of that, we have said good-bye to diapers, your baby bed, and tomorrow your paci. You are leaving babyhood behind. I can't believe it.
Tonight, on the eve of your third birthday, daddy sits on the floor putting together your red tricycle, the gift you have requested for weeks. Tomorrow, Near, Ann, Ellie, Luke, and Andrew will arrive, and Friday we will celebrate you.
At three you are a so full of energy. You wake up bouncing and jumping and dancing, and you go to bed doing the same thing. You thrive on routine, down to the most minute detail, and if Scott and I (your scatterbrained parents) forget even one detail, there is the potential for a meltdown. We have a very intricate bed time routine that involves one story, two songs, counting to fourteen twice, and a big giant hug from daddy. You then scan the room to make sure that everything is exactly in place. Your room is the only one that is clean all of the time because you can't stand for it to be any other way. You love to draw and to paint, you love to create pretend worlds that mimic the things you see me do on a daily basis--grocery shopping, dinner cooking, baby caring--you are such a little mama. You know all of your letters, numbers to twenty, and you can even pick out a handful of words when we read. You have a very three year old like love for Jesus, and I pray that he would give you a heart to know and love him above all else. That is what I want for you, Ada, to know him. If you give your life to Him, surrender every part, everything else will fall into place.
I love seeing how God has knit you together. Your personality seems so different from both Scott and me. You are very happy, full of joy. You don't seem to have my melancholy tendencies at all, though you do have my flare for the dramatic. You like to be assured that everyone is happy, and if you are upset or angry about something, it only takes a few minutes for you to loudly announce, "I'm happy now, mama!" You are becoming very independent, wanting to do everything yourself, and these days you seem to be fighting me at every turn. I pray that the Lord would give me the wisdom to discipline you in such a way that you would learn excellence more than simple obedience. I often lose my patience with you, and I pray that God would give grace to both of us.
I love you precious girl. There are not words to describe how thankful I am that God gave you to me. You are my treasure.