The Fish Pond: Eight

Your head comes up to my shoulder, you weigh about 45 pounds. Not enough to give up your booster seat in the car, which bugs you.

You have two loose teeth, and have been trying desperately to lose your two front teeth for months now. It bothers you that kids younger and smaller than you have lost more teeth than you have. But you got your teeth late, so it makes sense that you'd lose them late, too.

You've recently started growing out your bangs, so looking you in the eye takes a bit of wrangling, unless you have one of your funny clips, all sideways and askew, trying in vain to hold back the mass of your chestnut hair, so like my own. I've decided to grow out my bangs, too, so we can be frustrated with them together.

You are oh so picky about your food. You pretty much exist on peanut butter and cereal, with a bit of fruit thrown in for good measure. You won't touch meat at all, except maybe maple or honey ham on the third tuesday of each month, if the planets are aligned properly. You won't eat any vegetable but raw carrots or cooked white corn, and God help me if I ever try to offer you the broccoli that I love so much. You'll eat tomatoes, in the form of pizza sauce, but never, ever on top of pasta. Eating like this isn't helping your quest to give up the booster seat, my dear. And no, I'm not going to let you convert to an all sugar, all the time diet just to fatten you up. You'll eat healthy, if persnickety.

You're growing so quickly that you are just gangly, all knees and elbows and pointy parts. This makes you a bit clumsy, banged and bruised. Slow down. Let your brain get used to your body the way it is, this day, and you won't trip and fall all time.

You are so smart, Trout, so very smart, yet so...I dunno, dreamy, maybe? at the same time. Your schoolwork is a tapestry of creativity and intelligence, if your handwriting is clear enough to be read, that is. You are quickly frustrated when things don't come to you easily, and when you choose to be so, you are a perfectionist to destructive levels. Homework is a horrifying time, really, because you choose to spend hours perfecting one particular part at the expense of doing the rest of it, and it takes forever when it shouldn't take more than 20 minutes or so. I am NOT looking forward to middle school if this keeps up. But you are doing third grade math with ease, and you read everything you can get your hands on, and I wish that you never, ever lose that hunger for knowledge.

You love High School Musical, and Hannah Montana, and the Suite Life of Zach and Cody, but you are just as willing to sit and watch Dora or Kipper or Teletubbies with your little sister and still be entertained. You love ballet and chess and science. Your favorite color is brown, at last check, though this changes regularly. You love American Girl dolls, and your old Heavy Baby Hair just as much as the first day you got her. You love all kinds of music, and it tickles me to no end how much you love rock, especially old heavy metal hair bands from the 80s. You love to do art, especially drawing. You're excited to be getting your first communion this year.

You are a daredevil. You love airplanes and helicopters and roller coasters, the wilder the better. You have taught me so much about letting go and living life to its fullest, without fear.

You hate to brush your hair. You hate green vegetables. You are incredibly picky about how your pants fit you - they can't be "touching" you or you go nuts. You apparently hate silence, because you are never, ever quiet, and you go to sleep best when you have your cd player playing softly. You've entered the tween years, and can be so, so moody. We've entered a very challenging time, you and I.

Though sometimes bossy, you are a great big sister to your siblings. You watch out for them and take care of them and are a huge help to me. You started by volunteering to share your room with your little sister and you continue today by helping with the baby, helping keep him safe, and small things out of his mouth, so that I can go to the bathroom by myself.

I am so proud of the way you are growing up. Proud of the kind, compassionate, loving child you are. Proud of your creativity, your drive, your spirit, your confidence. Proud of your generosity. Proud of your intelligence and wit and vitality. Proud, yes, I'll say it, that you are beautiful, and I will say it because no one should ever ever feel bad about wanting to be pretty and no one will ever say it enough.

You are brilliant, Trout, and I am so very very blessed that eight years ago I became a mother. To you. Your mother. Eight lightning-fast years blip - gone. You are the best surprise your daddy and I ever got.

Happy Eighth Birthday, honey.

Comments

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She is pretty great. I wish I got to see her more. Maybe we can have some Uncle Orca time soon. Anyway, I'll call tomorrow (sunday) and wish her a happy birtday. (I was gigging today, saturday.)

Posted by: Agincourtdb | October 28, 2007 at 01:33 AM

Eight... how time flies.

Posted by: Fish-flopper | October 29, 2007 at 10:18 AM

Beautiful post...she sounds wonderful! I am not surprised (because we are living parallel lives, you know) but she sounds alot like Kaden, I was giggling about the pizza sauce and point parts, as he is just the same.

Happy #8 Birthday Trout :)

Posted by: Angi | October 29, 2007 at 10:45 AM