My Dearest Abigail,
Upon writing just those three words, “My Dearest Abigail,” my eyes are already beginning to well up. Today, you are five. FIVE! That’s a whole hand. I spent a few minutes re-reading your birthday letters and looking through pictures, and I am just blown away by the young girl you’ve become. There is nothing baby left about you - nor do you want there to be. Last night you let me hold you in the rocking chair in your room - the one you now share with Grace. Sitting with you in the same chair that we’ve sat in for the last five years and pulling you close to me, I listened as you told me you were nervous about becoming five. When I asked you why, you said this: “I don’t know how to be five yet.” Sweet girl, if I can tell you anything, it’s this - you will. You will know how to be five. You will crush being five, and I’m sure we will look back in a year and wonder where five went. Because I’m learning pretty quickly that these years fly by. So here’s what I want you to remember from this one.
This year was a hard one in so many ways. This was the year that our world was hit by the Coronavirus pandemic. This was the year we stayed home. And wore masks. And used more hand sanitizer than we may in the rest of our lives combined. I worried about you this year. You understood more than I wish you had been able to. I remember I had tried not to tell you about what was going on, but at dinner one night you asked, “Is that because of Coronavirus?” I hadn’t even said the word to you before, but I should’ve known better. You are a sponge and pick up on things way more than I sometimes give you credit for. So then we just started talking about it. Whenever we needed to. There were times when we were sad because we had to be away from our extended family. But there were other times when we were so happy and grateful to spend time with our immediate family that we wouldn’t have had otherwise. You ask a lot of questions, and I try to be honest with you. I guess that’s what it’s going to be like as you get older - being open and honest. You can count on me for that.
As hard as this year has been, there have also been some amazing moments. We traveled to the North Pole on the Polar Express and you left letters for Santa. We visited the Isle of Palms in South Carolina for a few nights of complete relaxation. You welcomed your new baby sister, Emilia Hope, into the world - and let me tell you - you have been the most amazing big sister, helping in all the ways a mama could need and forging an incredible bond with both of your little sisters. We had our first camping trip at Salisbury Beach and our first Labor Day weekend lakeside. You even helped me cook our first (and hopefully last) Thanksgiving turkey. Your dad and I have tried to have some dedicated Abby time - from getting cider donuts are the farm to shooting hoops with your dad! You’ve learned many sight words this year and often ask me if I want to hear you count to 100. You have become the most amazing little artist and have said you want to be an art teacher when you grow up - or a singer, or in the circus. You “just can’t decide!” You are incredibly thoughtful - always performing the sweetest gestures, like making my bed or asking to send a card to a friend. You love “The Greatest Showman,” cleaning and organizing, and eating shrimp - you love shrimp!
I hope I never forget how you like to draw your feelings, or watch Sunday football with your dad, or how you remember every lyric to “Rain On Me” by Lady Gaga and Arianna Grande. I hope I never forget the way that you and Grace act out scenes from Annie or the way you climb into Emmy’s crib to get her sleep sack off and hold her. I hope I always remember how responsible you are about feeding the dog and how you set reminders on Alexa to get into your pajamas. I hope I remember how you love nightgowns and journals and how strong you’re getting in your gymnastics class. I never want to forget the day I questioned something you were wearing and you said so simply, “Mom - we can like different things.” I always want to remember how you like to pour your cereal and milk by yourself and how you love painting a different color on each of your nails and how you can finally stand at the bottom of the pool. I hope I never forget how all you wanted for Christmas was a bathrobe or the look on your face when you first rode your bike without training wheels.
Last night when we talked about turning five and you said you were nervous, I told you that on that same night five years ago, I was nervous too. I was so nervous to become a mother, but somehow, I just did it. Because I had you. And I know I’m not doing it perfectly, but all I can hope is that when you need me, you know I will be here. When you feel sad, you know I will comfort you. When you are proud, you know I will be cheering you on. When you are tired, you know I will rub your back. When you are nervous, you know I will take deep breaths with you. When you feel ready, you know I will let you try by yourself. When you are unsure, you know I will believe in you. It’s okay to be nervous to be five. But somehow, you will just do it. And you have me.
Abby, this year has been hard in so many ways, but in so many others, it has been one of the best years, too. I will hold onto this extra time we got to spend together in a very special place in my heart. In a year that has brought so much change to your little world, you have been so brave. So empathetic. So RESILIENT. I couldn’t be prouder of the girl you are becoming. You make me smile every single day, and for the rest of my life, I will shout from mountain tops that you are my daughter who does amazing things.
So today, on your fifth birthday, please know this - that strength you have inside of you - that little voice that has kept you so strong this year - it’s only going to keep growing. And I can’t wait to watch all of the things you do with it. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Love,
Mama
xxx