Now We Are Six

My dear Neko, today you turn six.

SIX.

The other day I noticed you no longer stand at my knees. Or my hip. Or my waist. Instead, your head comes my chest, and when I catch us together in a reflection, you look so much like A KID.

You're talking like a kid, too. There's clearly a certain dialect that goes on in kindergarten, words and phrases that get passed around. None of them bad, but they're clearly a product of you being part of a community of your own, one that doesn't include the rest of us. You come home sounding a bit like a stranger, and it takes me a while to catch up.

Today we asked you what you wanted to do for your birthday, and you chose the dinosaur exhibit. You had been with your class, but you were eager to show the rest of us what you learned. You were clearly paying attention during the trip because, even though you gave us the tour at lightning speed, you were full of names and facts.

Since that went so quickly, we visited other parts of the museum. The highlight was the man who was finishing up a small talk about giant cockroaches. I think you squealed with delight when he offered to let you hold one, and for nearly ten minutes the two of you sat and talked about cockroaches while it wandered from hand to hand.

It's been a grueling few weeks, so we bought a cake (which is unheard of in these parts). You wanted the cake you saw at the ice cream shop when we got haircuts, but, of course, it was gone by now. So I attempted to recreate it with a plain ice cream cake and butterflies from the craft store. I think you were satisfied.

As you blew out the candles, I thought how this day in particular really represents the essence of you at this age. Dressed head to toe in pink (skirt and tights, of course), you wandered between dinosaurs and insects, happy to push up your sleeves and dive into both. You keep blowing out the knees on your tights, and I just keep buying them. You are inevitably the dirtiest kid in the school pick-up line at the end of the day, which always makes me smile. I wish I could embrace life with the intensity you do. It is inspiring.

You're still struggling with some stuff. There are still tantrums and a short fuse. You rarely stop moving. But when I look back, I am awestruck at how far you have come. How far we have come. (We are a team in this, I do believe.)

Of all these things, I could not be more proud. Happy birthday.