Five years ago today

Dear Caroline,

Every time I looked at the clock yesterday, I thought about where I was five years ago.

I remember every moment of that day more vividly than any other day of my life. Waking up with what I thought was a stomach bug and realizing it was actually contractions, calling the doctor to ask when I should go to the hospital, frantically unpacking box after box in the kitchen because the countertops had just been installed the day before, Daddy driving me to the hospital, and Nurse Louise.

Nurse Louise is the reason I almost experienced natural childbirth despite the fact that my birth plan clearly stated I wanted an epidural sometime around my seventh month of pregnancy.

I finally got my epidural around 1:00 a.m. on August 3 when I was ten centimeters dilated. I felt immediate relief and called for my lipgloss.

You come by your love of any type of lipgloss honestly.

At 2:24 a.m. you made your grand entrance into the world the same way you’ve lived every day for the last five years; on your own timetable, tiny yet feisty, and wide-eyed as you took in everything around you.

Five years ago today, my heart was so full of love for you that it almost seemed too much to bear. I had no idea how much more I would grow to love you as I watched you turn into a unique little person.

Yesterday morning, we sat out on the back porch and I blew bubbles so that you could run around and pop them. We’ve done this for the last four years, but it seemed especially poignant to me at that moment. As you ran around, I asked you what you thought was going to be the best part of being five.

You looked right at me, like you weren’t sure how anyone could be so dense, and said, “BEING FIVE!”

And then you told me that my breath smelled like the circus.

I’d like to think it was a compliment, but since we were just at the circus a month ago, I feel pretty certain it was not meant as a positive thing.

This past year, you have turned into a true little girl right before my eyes. Yes, you’ve grown about four inches taller, but it’s also the way you act, the way you think, and the things you say.

The other morning I opened my eyes to see you staring at me with a big smile on your face. You said, “What’s on our AGENDA today, Mama? Do you know what an AGENDA is? It’s a list of things to do.”

I assured you that I knew what an agenda was, but Mama was going to need some caffeine before I could provide an itinerary for the day. You can’t help that you’re a morning person, it’s a genetic trait you inherited from Daddy.

You’ve reached the point I had long dreamed about and actually enjoy going shopping with me. I hear so much of myself as you pull out a skirt from the rack at Gap, give it the once over, and murmur to yourself, “I’m not too crazy about this” while you shake your head.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

Five seems like the end of an era. Maybe it’s because I know that in just three short weeks, I’ll walk you into your Kindergarten classroom.

That walk down the hallway will be the first of many steps that will lead you into your own world.

And you’re ready. You are more than ready.

Daddy and I have prayed so many things for you since before you were born and, true to form, God has done more than we could have asked or imagined. You are a light in this world, not just to us, but to everyone who meets you.

You are our bright star and we’ll be cheering you on every step of the way.

Last night as I tucked you in bed, I gave you a kiss and said, “Just think, that’s Mama’s last four-year-old kiss!”

You put your little hands on either side of my face, pulled me back down to you, kissed me softly on the cheek and said, “That’s a four-year-old kiss that you can keep forever, Mama”.

And I will. I’ll keep it forever.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Love,
Mama