My Dearest Madelyn Marjorie,
Tomorrow, when the world is adorned in green and orange and shamrocks and Guinness and revelling in all kinds of Blarney, I will quietly be raising a glass… to you.
Cheers, Baby Girl, to you, on your fifth birthday.
Cue the ugly cry.
I will cry knowing that 5 years ago, I held you for the first time and kissed your forehead - the same way I have done every night since God carefully chose me to be your Mama. I will cry when I tell you “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” and “I love you most,” at bedtime. I will cry when I close your door for the night, knowing that the next day you will be 5 years and 1 day old.
I used to laugh at your GeeGee for her constant commentary on time and here I am… praying for it to slow down. I beg you almost daily to “stop growing so fast.” Time and time again, you hold my face into your little hands and whisper, “I can’t...but no matter how I look on the outside, I will always be your Baby Girl…” and to me, that is what you will always be.
Mads, I have so many wishes for you as you begin your fifth trip around the sun. I wish you grace for when you stumble, I wish you hope for when you’re heartbroken, and I wish you strength for when you’re up against the odds… But most of all, I wish you peace for when the world wants to show you how ugly it can be.
Know that this peace begins with you: from every morning as you greet the sunshine with “Good Morning, Sun,” to your last words of the evening: “Thank you, God, for all of my blessings…” and every single moment in between. From the exciting to the mundane, you will find your peace in the little things most take for granted and in the love that’s already inside of your heart. It’s the wonderment and love you have of the little things that make the big things that’ll try to break you but a mere wrinkle in the fabric of your being. So keep whistling to those birdies every morning, Mads, because I do believe they are singing their song just for you.
A few weeks ago, while trying to get out the door for the day, you didn’t want to wear your shoes to school because “Hailey* won’t talk to anyone who doesn’t have laces…” and do you remember what I told you? “Hailey sucks and she is not your friend. Not everyone has the
same heart as you, Madelyn, and that’s okay.” And then we hugged. Tight. And it was the kind of hug that was more of a hold - long enough for us to miss our daily “target leave time,” but it didn’t matter - you needed me and as promised, I was there. As the tears streamed down your face, I thought about how to go all Mama-Bear on Hailey but you know what? The people in this world who do not have the same heart as you will just make you stronger. They will hurt you on purpose, they will talk about you, and they will take advantage of your sweet nature. Know that this will happen at 5, 25, and even 95; it doesn’t matter how many candles are on your cake. Just know the problem lies in something that is in them, not something that is in you. So take that, Hailey. Laces are so 90’s anyway.
…
Just the other morning, after hearing your pounding piggies hit the ground while running to my room to greet me for the day, you pointed out and petted the scar on your upper left abdomen. “Here’s my scar, Mama, it makes me beautiful.” “It’s just a little part of what makes you beautiful, Mads,” pretending there were remnants of sleep in my eyes instead of tears, “Your beauty starts on the inside.” That scar is just a little reminder of how lucky we are to have you - and how you overcame your first obstacle at eleven weeks old. I fought hard for you, Mads. Someday I will tell you the whole story, but somehow I think you already know.
You asked for a locket with our picture in it for your birthday. What a “Very Maddy” request. I’m not sure how at five you already recognize the bond of our family, but you do... and for that, I’m the lucky one. As your Mama, I will never have to worry about you feeling the love and the enchantment of a happy home. We are far, far from perfect, but together we are a perfect family. Together we write our own narrative as we move forward through time. While including our own rewrites, rereads, and redos, our experience is uniquely ours and ours alone. And it’s just getting started. I can’t wait to see what lies ahead for you, your brother, your dad and for me.
My Sweet Mads, you are the the sign I needed to affirm that Heaven does exist - your GeeGee told me you’d be mine long before you were even a thought. So thank you for being here; thank you for being you. Even 90 years from now, (when I’m up in Heaven watching over), know you’ll always be my little girl. By that time, maybe you’ll even be sitting in a rocking chair, enjoying a glass of Guinness, thinking of me, too.
But don’t be sad: I will be too busy up beyond the rainbow, decked out in green and my Irish orange, sporting all kinds of shamrocks, hooting and hollering while crappily dancing a jig and proudly raising a glass: “Cheers to my Madelyn Marjorie.”
And that is no Blarney.
Happy, happy birthday. I love you...most.
Mama
*Names have been changed to protect the jerks.
