To Violet, on her 5th birthday:
Violet, you're FIVE!
Let's talk about that for a minute.
I remember holding you in the hospital, five so-short years ago, and you would lift your head up and look around. At the time, I thought, "What the heck is with this baby? Should newborns do that?"
I remember holding you in the hospital, five so-short years ago, and you would lift your head up and look around. At the time, I thought, "What the heck is with this baby? Should newborns do that?"
But now, I look back and think, "Yep. That's our Violet."
{And you were in there 2 weeks & 2 days longer than most babies.}
{No, I've forgiven you, but I'm never letting that go.}
{34 hours of labor too.}
{And you were in there 2 weeks & 2 days longer than most babies.}
{No, I've forgiven you, but I'm never letting that go.}
{34 hours of labor too.}


You carried on as such. You slept through the night from birth. When you were 6 months old, I wrote this post about you and your shoplifting and steak-eating habits. You crawled at 7 months and walked {without holding onto anything} at 8.5 months.

When you were a toddler, I worried you would be a bully and a bruiser.
To be fair, you did once take a Sharpie to my sofa and you pulled chunk of your sister's hair out.
You had a reputation, girl.
You were never really, truly a baby.
And you've never taken crap from anyone either.
From boys on the playground, to the man at the grocery store who teased you.
You were never one to quietly endure.


From 0 to about 5 months old, you screamed bloody murder every single time we put you in the car seat. Your father and I had no choice but to:
a) not leave the house, or
b) one of us drive while the other sat in the back with you and held your hand

It wasn't because you were scared or hurt.
It was because you hated not being able to move and get into things.
Like my makeup, which you have always envied.

The fact is, you are not the bruiser I thought you'd be.
You are a princess-loving fairy tale girl.
You love pink.
You love ballet.
You love having your makeup done.

I really haven't identified a part of you that is like your father yet.
But someday, as you continue to grow up, it will come out of the woodwork and I will admire you for it.
{Don't worry, I can already tell you don't have your father's nose.}


I hate that you are so hard on yourself.
I hate that you are so easily discouraged.
I hate the self-pity you are prone to when things don't go your way.
{You've got to learn to cope with that, dear. Life is full of it.}
I hate that you compare yourself to your sister
and are let down when you can't do the things she can do.
Especially because, despite being 2 1/2 years behind her, you have always been ahead of your age.
And you're the only one who cannot see that.

I love that you notice your friends, and how they're feeling.
Always willing to offer a hug and a smile, my Violet.

When it is time to make dinner, clean up, or fold laundry, you're always the first and only
of my children to offer to help, and happily too.

You compliment people as often as you can,
because you care about how others feel about themselves and you.

You come up with the most creative excuses ever,
for when you're in trouble and need to change the subject. {Even though we're on to you.}

We're excited to see what you do with your life.
I hope you keep up the hard work at ballet class,
and that you go easier on yourself when you fail at something.
But don't give up, keep trying.
That's when you really start to shine.

There are a lot of people in your life,
like Grandma Jan,
like Papa,
like Auntie Brittany,
like Aya & Indy,
like Grandma & Grandpa Sander,
like Aunt Rachel & Aunt Katie,
like Eisley,
like Mommy & Daddy,
and like God,
who love you.
Just the way you are.
Love you always,
Mom
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