Ten.
Ten is two whole hands, two high fives and, when necessary, two clenched fists. Ten.
Right now I’m listening to Lindsey Buckingham’s cover of the Stones’ “She Smiled Sweetly”- a song I put on your Spotify playlist shortly after you were born. (Wowzer, file THAT one under Tell Me You Were Born in the 2010s Without Telling Me You Were Born in the 2010s.) Susannah Mae, this song couldn’t be more you.
You’ll take care of it.
You’ll smile the sweetest, sunshiniest smile while doing it.
You’ll take care of them. Whoever, whenever, however.
Two clenched fists at the ready. (Two high fives at the ready.)
Ten is rearranging rooms and laying out a week’s worth of coordinated outfits. Ten is crafting storylines (and sometimes outfits) for dolls. Ten is raging and crying against the injustices of the world and your gender- and sometimes against your chores and your little brother.
Ten is sushi and truffle hot sauce and tea in fancy cups. Ten is watching old mysteries with your mama- mostly because I love them, but mostly because you do, too.
Ten is elaborate braids and bruised soccer knees.
Ten is trading-off reading chapters of sci-fi/fantasy books with me each night, tearing up at the sad parts and giggling well past dark at the hilarious ones.
Ten is special– finding it, sharing it, shrieking it. You are special, Suzy Zuzu, and it’s hard to imagine a time when we didn’t have this level of emotional glitter snuggling up on us.
This morning, we rendered you speechless with a birthday card. You’d spent roughly a year crafting a persuasive essay about why you should adopt your own pet, research about great pets for ten year-olds, and what- quite specifically- hamsters should eat. You shared this file on Google Drive to your Dad and me, and despite initial reservations, we knew you’d win. (Again.) Because that birthday card invited you to go choose your very own hamster after school today. Speechless” is rare for you, as was the quiet shaking with joy as your eyes implored me “Really? Really?” (Really.)
Not to compare you to a hamster…
…But, well, I actually might. As soon as you were placed in my arms almost exactly ten years ago, I was speechless. (Also very tired but, you know, unrelated.) Because I didn’t know how badly I’d needed to meet an impossibly small girl with a shock of white-blonde ducky hair. You were the baby after the baby I’d lost, and during the whole pregnancy my eyelash-wish prayer was a fervent pleasepleaseplease let the baby be healthy, let the baby be wonderful.
And you are. You’re healthy. You’re wonderful. And we all won. (Again.)
I’m so very glad you were born, Buttercup, and I love you more than my arms can hold.
More than two whole hands, in fact.
Happy birthday, Susannah, happy, happy birthday to you.
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