I started this post on Monday — which was your seventh birthday. Here it is Wednesday, and I am just getting around to posting it.
And this pretty much probably justifies a lot of the way you are afflicted with “middle child” syndrome. Yes, I can give you all the reasons (excuses) why it’s taken so long to finish and post this letter to you. Work is ON FIRE; the weather is not, and has disrupted the routine we are trying to get back to. Plus, although your birthday is the first one of the year, because of its timing, it falls at the tail end of a lot activity. By the time we get to January, we are running on fumes. This seems patently unfair to you, and I hope by giving you birthday activities — just like we do for all our other children — we gloss over that fact.
Anyway, here’s your letter, my January star:
Every where we go, people know your name.
Usually because I have to exclaim it a few times. Your behavior is not always ideal when we are out in public.
And you know what? I am starting to not mind so much. You know why? Because you’re not hurting anyone. You’re not causing a general uproar. You’re not being bad. You’re being spirited, enthusiastic, and, yes, loud.
Now, do I let you behave that way in the library or in church? No, I do not. Do I let you run around screaming in restaurants? Absolutely not. However, you are 7 now, and you are starting to learn appropriate behavior. (You still want to hug everyone, though.)
You are well-liked. You are funny and smart. You are the best big sister that a little boy (who is also funny, smart, and spirited) could have. (With apologies to Flora, but let’s face it. She likes her quiet time.)
I still worry about you and have my parenting challenges with you. You ricochet and vibrate; you plunge into frustration and sadness. You hate to be alone — it crushes you, it makes you sad. You sob. Sleeping through the night has become a challenge, for all of us. Separation anxiety is wearing us all out.
But, you know, we saw Frozen this past weekend, and I look at the way Elsa was instructed to hide herself, and I just can’t do that to you, my Kate. You’re a little more likely to set things on fire than build an ice palace to be alone, but the theory is the same. You don’t have to be a “good girl”. You are a good girl — but “good” doesn’t in your case mean meek, quiet, and instantly compliant. Your dad and I are making our peace with that.
Anyway, this birthday letter is two days late. Just consider it payback for how long you made me wait the week you were born.
I love you, my spirited, fiery second daughter, my demanding middle. I gave you lots of happy birthday wishes this year, and consider this my last one for now. Don’t change, don’t hide. Be the person you are.
All my heart,