A letter for my daughter.

My dearest Emily Jane,

22 years ago from now (at 1:30 pm) Dad was bringing you and I home from the hospital. You were only 12 hours old and I felt fine so they sent us home. I was amazed at how wide open your eyes were as you seemed to look all around you. Elanor was waiting at home and she just loved having you there (until you got old enough to mess with her and her things!). You were a loving, sweet tempered child who didn't want to nap in the day but didn't want to sleep through the night until you were almost two. I figured you were waking up because you needed something so I got up. Every Night. Eventually, you settled down and slept. I was grateful.

You didn't babble like most babies. You just watched the world with those big ,blue eyes. In fact, you didn't make much noise until you were about 18 months old when you talked in mini sentences. "Nurse me mommy" being your favorite. Even then you couldn't get enough milk.

When you learned to walk and move around, there was no stopping you. You scooted around the floor first in the walker and then on your own two feet. Always toward the door. I think you have had your face pressed against the glass since you were born. Always wanting to go. Somewhere, anywhere.

Straight A's through school. I was worried that your type A personality would not handle the B when it came as it surely would someday. And when it did, you wanted to know Why? How to tell you that it was ok not to be perfect when you pushed yourself so hard? I never had to push you because you were always so hard on yourself.

And then you moved out. And now you are on your own, living your life. I have so much admiration for your strength and determination and courage and creativity. You are so lovely and kind and you have such a good heart.

It makes my heart full to bursting with pride to think of you and how wonderful you are. It floors me that you are my daughter.

I love you so very much, Emmy Jane.

Happy, Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mom