Well, it happened. You turned eight and you’re now officially hiding from the camera. I had to pull out a threatening, “But I gave birth to all nine pounds and six ounces of you!” in order to get you to stand still for this single photo. I’m so glad your eyes are open.
With this birthday a wish came true. You’ve been begging for riding lessons for nearly a year. Today you got a helmet and a pair of paddock boots, and tomorrow you’ll go to three days of horse camp. In May, you’ll begin formal lessons. I have a feeling once we head down this path, we likely won’t look back. You, animals, and adrenaline—I doubt we can beat that combination elsewhere.
Although you still struggle, at eight you’ve got more control of your mind, your body, and your feelings. I’m not sure I would have trusted you around a horse a year ago, but now I’m literally handing over the reins. I’m so proud of the strides you’ve made in this regard. I’m so thankful for the friends who remind us how far we’ve come.
I think the upside of this is that your mind is so full of big ideas—thoughts that everyone seems to find irresistible. You create plays and costumes and magical worlds. You orchestrate games with complex rules and intricate nuances. You have endless energy and unstoppable perseverance. While I know you will always struggle a bit to tame all the ideas in your head, how lucky you are to have them.
Your other gift this year was a scooter, one of those ones with the sparks that fly. I don’t know why we never got you one before. You had practiced on many, so you were a master on the first go. Before I knew it, you were propelling yourself with all your might down the hill.
I had no idea scooters even went that fast.
My first instinct was to yell, to tell you to slow down. But I stopped myself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you in these eight years is that, when you’re intentional motion, you seem to know your limits. And as the years tick on, we’re moving to the point where I can tell you where I stand, and where I place my own boundaries. But I can’t force them on you. You have to create them for yourself. And I suspect there will be quite a few tumbles along the way.
Everyone always says how much we look alike. And while we look alike, we are so different. As I watch you hurtle down that hill, going a speed I would never dare to attempt, sparks flying behind, you bear a look of absolute joy. I’m so proud of how you take hold of life, and run with your ideas at an unfathomable speed.
They say your children model themselves after you. Their actions mimic your own, molding their patterns based on what they see. But I like to think it goes the other way, too. I see your enthusiasm and fearless determination, and it makes me want to take a few steps out of my perhaps-too-comfortable box.
So whether you’re on a horse, a scooter, or your own two feet—dig in, kick off, and fly, my love. I can’t wait to see where you go.