I’m not usually one to get sappy. And, being an introvert, it’s kind of difficult for me to express my emotions in a one-on-one situation. So, to give myself a crutch and help my youngest know she’s loved, I decided to write A Letter to My Youngest Daughter on Her 1st Birthday. She can read it when she’s older and know I was thinking about her all the time–even if I’ve turned into an ogre by the time she’s 15. Heh.
A Letter to My Youngest Daughter on Her 1st Birthday
Do you know why you have this nickname? It’s probably not what you think. Just because your sister’s nickname is Jelly does not make you her second. No. Her Jelly is short for jellyfish and the first bits of her first and middle name. Very un-original. But not you. Your nickname is all original. All yours. And completely based on the fact that donuts are my favorite thing in the whole world to eat. Oh, and the fact that are the center of my world–like you. There is that.
I’m not saying you’re my favorite. That would be mean to your brother and sister. And I would never be mean to them. Especially not on purpose. And especially not on the internet. But you are the missing piece. The hole I didn’t even know was there that needed filling. And for that, I will always be in debt to you. And love you so deeply it’s insane.
Donut, your birth was, by far, the hardest I had. I didn’t birth your brother, since we adopted him, that should be obvious, but your sister was born just a scant two years before you were–and your birth was so difficult in comparison. I literally thought I was dying on the operating table when I heard your voice for the first time. Of course, I didn’t die, but for the next few days, the pain I went through was so significant that–well, it was bad. Very very bad. And I hate pain killers–and the hallucinations are why.
Regardless of that, of my three kiddos, you have been the easiest to parent (so far, but I’ve noticed you’re sneaky). And for that, I’m almost kind of sorry for you. Your brother gets lots of attention because of his acting-out. Your sister learned to scream in pain meant to get attention–and her volume setting was designated at “high” on that day. You, on the other hand, Donut, you are quiet. You are thoughtful. You are–sneaky. You do get the attention you need, I think, but you’re much more subtle, much more easy-going. And I have to work hard to remember you’re in the room sometimes because you’re so very quiet. But this is part of what makes you unique and special. You sneaky baby, you.
And that’s really what this comes down to, Donut. You’re sneaky. You snuck-in my heart–with your surprise pregnancy, your surprise birth, and your sneaky, quiet little ways.
I love you, Donut. Every sneaky little inch of you. And every sneaky inch you will be. You’re so much more than I deserved, so much more than I ever thought I’d get. You’re the cherry on top of my ice cream cake and I can’t imagine life without you.
Donut, when you’re a teen and you think back to how much of a horrible troll I am, I hope you find this. I hope you find this and know, I love you. With every inch of me. For every inch of you. My baby. My donut. My heart.
P.S. I’m crying, so I’m going to stop after this, but Donut, you are amazing, wonderful and can be ANYTHING you want to be. I want you to be a scientist–in case you need ideas. So do big things, even if you do them quietly. Because you can, you deserve to and you’re absolutely capable (I can already tell).