Dear Maggie,
Impossibly, you are four! And, quite predictably, I’m
late with your birthday letter again!
Your grandma calls you her “big girl baby,”
which perfectly sums you up over the past year. There is so much you can do,
and your mind is always working. You want to know how everything is spelled,
and constantly notify us when you’ve discovered two words that rhyme. You’re
equally at home in ballet and karate classes, but most of the time, you act
like the girliest girl who ever girled. You want to wear a dress every single
day. After three summers of flat-out refusing to wear sandals, you now swoon
dramatically when your foot comes near a sock or tennis shoe. And when you went
on a run with me a couple of weeks ago, I had quite a time convincing you that
brown leather Mary Janes, a beaded purse, and a red silk scarf were not
appropriate for the occasion.
You’re still our baby, too. You still love to cuddle,
and though you told us for months that you’d be giving up your bedtime
pacifier when you turned four, you threw two of your biggest temper tantrums
ever when the time came. (Happily for us all, you’ve been much more
cheerful—and pacifier free—since then!)
You have become very self-assured, and quicker to get over
your shyness around unfamiliar people. You have also become very bossy particular when playing. At least once a
day, you will dictate the details of a conversation you want us to have.
“Mommy,” you’ll say, “You go sit on your part of the
island [gesturing to corner of bedroom] and say, ‘Who is that?’,
and I’ll say, ‘My name is Barbie as the Island Princess’ and
you’ll say, ‘Oh, you’re so beautiful, and I love your
elephant…’” etc., etc. And woe to the actor who misses a cue!
Often, all this planning precludes actual playing. One night we were about to
pretend that you were going to drive Lily and me on a bus (your bed) to a
“fahncy dahnce.” You gave us a 30-minute lecture on the code of
conduct for both adult and baby bus-riders, and details about just how fahncy
this dahnce was going to be. When, at long last, you finally climbed behind the
wheel of your bus, the (yes, invisible) gearshift was stuck, so we had to scrap
the whole plan.
You are patient with your baby sister, who shows her
affection by yelling “GAGGIE!” in your face when you’ve just
woken up, taking your toys, pulling your hair, and tackling and pinning you to
the floor. You seem to realize that these are Lily’s ways of expressing
love, and you can even laugh about it some of the time. From one big sister to
another, I advise you to keep that sense of humor, and work on your flexibility.
Even with your vast two-and-a-half-year head start, you won’t always be
right. (Of course, feel free to continue stepping in when Lily is trying her
best to pull the trash can over or splash in the toilet—you are 100%
right in those instances!)
For most of the year, you told us you want to be a
“petinarian” when you grow up. Trouble was, you loved animals in
theory, but were terrified of them in practice. You magically overcame that
fear a couple months ago, but also changed your career plans. You decided you
wanted to be a mommy instead, which you soon amended to a “mommy
teacher,” then a “boss mommy teacher.” Just yesterday you
told me you were going to go to college to be an “arktist” because
you love making “arkt.”
Many of your lifetime memories will begin here, which is
both awesome and terrifying. I hope our future petinarian, boss mommy teacher,
or arktist, remembers just how lovely, sweet and silly she was when she was four
four. We sure will!
With love, my sweet girl,
Mom
