3 1/2

sweetbird,

today you turned three and a half. it's been quite a great 1278 days of having you in this life. i am sure you woke up at daddy's house this morning, demanding to be snuggled only to twist away to demand your morning fruit.



you have seventeen freckles on your nose and your eyelashes look as if they may never stop growing. at this rate, you'll be able to tickle men (or women, i am not picky) across the room with the blink of an eye. and speaking of those boys, your headmaster says you've been making some of them cry at school. i know sharing does not come easy to you. i'd like to say it gets easier but i think sharing is not so much a function of age as it is one of temperament. and you may not be one who shares things easily. it's okay, you'll learn what you are able to give away freely in good time.



you also have begun to smell everything. you walk up to me and smell me every day. sometimes you say i smell "beautiful", other times you just take a whiff of me and walk off like some disenchanted dog. i try not to take offense but it is hard. when we're driving home from school i catch your face buried in your lunch box. when i ask you what you are doing you say, "just smelling." and when we cook, your face is crouched down into that little copper pan, smelling all of the things that you've found in the cupboard: cinnamon, black peppercorns, lavender honey, salt, olive oil, rose water, wasabi powder, loose tea. you stir and smell and wrinkle your nose and add more ingredients and dive in for another take. i am truly enchanted to see you taking such notice of your olfactory power.


and boy do you like to sing. from the time you get up, to the time you drop off, you are humming and chirping and asking to hear "that song again" or asking me to sing "the streets of loredo". and when i do and it gets to the part about the cowboy dying, your eyes get wide and you already seem to understand the reverence that goes along with a thing like death. you love your instruments, especially your guitar.




you have this way of looking at me that makes me wonder if i am doing everything alright. it's only after a long day of meetings and school and errands and chores and obligations, when you nestle under my wing and scoot yourself so close to me that i have to draw in my breath in order to make space for all the room that you seem to want, that i feel i might just be doing alright by you. you fall asleep and then i exhale, slowly, my warm breath escaping into that small hole you make with your mouth when you sleep.


love,

mama