A letter to my daughter on her twenty-eighth birthday

To My Lara-

Twenty-eight years ago at 1:46 a.m, while the stars were falling out of the endless night sky, I gave birth to you. You came into the world wailing, voicing your extreme displeasure at being thrust unceremoniously out of your safe, warm existence. Still wailing, you were placed into my arms, and as I clutched you to my endorphin drenched body you quieted and gazed at me with slate blue eyes. You studied me intently, and at that moment it dawned on me that you were going to be unique, tough, demanding, beautiful, and charming. I was right.

As a six month old baby you loved music- any music, although I admit to saturating you in 70s and 80s rock. Your sense of rhythm and melody was astonishing. You would bounce your head from side to side, wiggle your tiny body, and go off into the music. You are still that way! As you grew, your questions were not the ordinary ones a mother usually hears from her child. No, My Lara wanted to know if a person could slide down a rainbow, you wanted to know what existed outside of space, you wanted to know what the word “love” meant, which by the way you defined for me at four years of age, “Love is when you love someone so much you don’t want to unlove them.” Pretty profound.

And at four years of age you would howl with laughter every time you heard the word “China” because it sounded so similar to the word I had taught you for a part of the female anatomy. At nine, my sweet curly haired, pig tailed daughter, you could field a softball with such force that you often knocked other players out of your way. I can still hear you screaming at the other players, “Get the ball! Slide! Slide! Who cares if you get dirty!” At twelve you balked at having to wear braces and proclaimed I was the meanest mom in the world for making you get them. At thirteen you entered a local beauty pageant, not because you wanted to win; far from it- you coveted the Miss Congeniality sash. If you had won first place you would have been devastated. You won Miss Congeniality and walked on air for weeks afterward.

When you were fourteen, I was once again “the meanest mom in the world” when I took your bedroom door off the hinges because you refused to clean your room and because your grades were slipping. At sixteen you punched a boy in the nose at school, creating a blood splatter that is, quite possibly, still on the school walls. You took the two day suspension with no arguments.

Then overnight it seemed you were all grown up and gone, the mother of your own daughter, and with your own road map of love and heartbreaks. Like every mother and daughter relationship, the road for us has been rocky at times, but you and I grew and changed with one another, developing a relationship that today I treasure. Forgive me if I sometimes slip into My Mom Mode- I truly try to keep that in check, however, once a mom, always a mom. You’ll find that out one day when your children are adults.

Today, at twenty-eight, My Lara, you are, by far, one of the most interesting people I know. You are still trying to slide down rainbows. And dear Lara, do not ever stop trying to slide down rainbows. Keep looking at the world through your Lara Eyes, keep crying at societal injustices. Stay curious, keep reading, and keep looking for causes to believe in. Refuse to be molded into anything except what and who you are. 
Happy birthday to my brilliant, shining falling star…