Every year, on your birthday, I try to write you a letter. I haven't been the most consistent, but I think we are near the 50% range in terms of task completion. Maybe eventually I'll embarrass you with these letters. Or maybe someday you'll appreciate them. I'll be around for scolding or adoration when either time comes about. Anyway. 

Today, you are seven. As much as I want to say that time is flying, because it really-really is, I feel like you've already been a seven-year-old for the past 6 months. We've just been waiting for time to catch up with you. 

You are surprisingly intuitive for such a young creature, and you always catch me off guard with the things you say. Like your sudden obsession with cemeteries, and how there are dead bodies in the ground. You love to be around people, doing whatever they're doing. Even if it's picking tomatoes out of the garden with your Grandma, or helping me clean the cabinets in the kitchen. Currently, you're into playing video games and watching movies with Colton in his office. I think he likes having you as a shadow. 

Sometimes you can be rather emotional. Like, when we wash the sheets on your bed, and you have a mental breakdown trying to get the fitted sheet on the mattress. I never realized how great-and-terrible bedding really is until the 6th year of your life. It's great, because you're big enough to do it, and I don't have to. But it's terrible because you end up sobbing, and I have to intervene anyway. I think we'll get better at this. 

Your little outbursts of emotion also surprise me. As an adult it's hard for me to truly comprehend that just because the noodles in your ramen are "slightly different" that it justifies a total revolt of dinner. Or when we yank you from playing with your hood-rat-friends to go on a walk with Bubba, and you exclaim, "I just can't relax here!". 

You're starting to get kinda tall, and I'm sorry...this is my fault. I am a kind of tallish ("Amazonian Woman" as Colton like to put it) female and you will eventually enjoy all of the struggles of tall girls as you get older. Like shower heads. They are usually never high enough, and there is really nothing worse than squatting in the shower to rinse the shampoo out of your hair. 

And Lord help me, my little muffin, you are so beautiful! I don't mean this as a cliche thing that all mothers say, but I just can't believe what a little beauty I have. Even when I give you grief about how wild your hair is in the morning, know that it's only because I love you. 

The thing about you that always baffles me is how easily you accept other people...and how much you talk to strangers. I was a really-really shy kid, and I am still very people averse as an adult. So when you start telling the Barista at Starbucks that we're headed to an ice cream social, or lean in for a hug from the Uber driver, I can't help but sit there like a deer in the headlights. 

I will always be in awe of what a silly, charming, kind-hearted, smart, quick-witted, no bullshit kind of gal you are, and I am grateful every day that you are mine.  

Well, my love. I think we are nearing the end of this love letter. I hope you have the very best day as you start the 7th year of your life.

I love you anyway, too. 

You didn't really think I'd get through this entire letter without one swear did you?

-Mom