The day is finally here. You’re 5!
It’s not 13. Sixteen. Twenty-one.
But 5, it seems so . . . so big! A birthday of 5 means the end of preschool days. Swimming on your own (almost). Running free at the park and not looking back to see me, unless of course, you want to impress me with something you’re doing.
Five means you’re still a child, but yet you’re so independent.
You put on your own clothes. You set your own plate. You get your own drink from the fridge.
You feel less like my baby and more like my girl.
Maybe it’s that you’re my only child, but 5 feels so wonderful and bittersweet. In short five years, we have lost our family (from divorce), rebuilt new ones (you with daddy and you with me), lost our home — and we made a new one, you and me. I went to work and you went to preschool after our former day-to-day loveliness of being together for two and a half years at home.
Read More: To My Daughter on Her 5th Birthday
She’s My Best Girl,