Dear baby girl

You fell asleep nursing in my bed tonight and I left you there for hours. When I finally moved you, it was difficult to negotiate your long limbs and your new weight. You're almost half my height and you weigh a whooping 31 pounds now. Sometimes it is difficult to carry you, not that you want me to all that often anymore. You felt every inch of two and a half years old.

But then I laid you down in your big girl bed (which is really just your crib with the side rail off, but you refuse to call it a crib any longer) and you said mommy, so I stood there and watched you settle back into sleep. I watched you yawn and your nose does the same thing it did when I watched you yawn for the first time, which was somehow yesterday and a lifetime ago all wrapped into one. Then you put your hands over your head and I thought about how you've always loved to have your hands above your face. When you were brand new to the world everyone swore we needed to swaddle you, bind your arms to your side, so you would sleep soundly. But you didn't want that, little one, and you were not happy with your arms bound to your sides. You fought your way out of the tightest swaddles we could manage and raised your little fist in the air, part triumph, part relief.

 I didn't know any better at the time, because I didn't know you then. Not how I know you now anyway. But after spending every day of the last two and a half years with you, I know that your arms are the perfect metaphor for you. You are not to be contained in a swaddle, in a blanket, in a crib. You are a wild thing with hair in your face and dirt under your nails. You love to run and dance, to spin and flip and jump. You love to dig and build and create. You run head first into any and everything and pass milestones so quickly and so early, I don't have time to blink. You are constantly moving and looking for the next activity, arms reaching out for something to do, something to learn, something to create.

And your arms also reach out in the sweetest way to me, to your daddy, to the people that you don't see everyday but love and talk about constantly. Your arms reach out for the best hugs I've ever had. They reach out to share toys and food, whether those things were asked for or not. They reach out for friends and company, because you have the sweetest social soul and you love to be around people. You love to interact and play and you think everyone you meet is your friend. You love without reservation or hesitation.

In the beginning, you were so small that you slept in a tiny little bassinet attachment to the pack and play and your arms did not even reach the top. Now, you stretch out and take up your entire mattress (you take up mommy's entire mattress too...). You are growing faster than I care to think about. I know soon you will no longer be so small, so wild, so free. The days when you fall asleep in my arms will be over and the number of years you spend in your own bed will soon far surpass the years you spent in mine. So I'm trying to cherish these moments with you. These exhausting never ending days full of blocks, princesses, ponies, and the frozen soundtrack on repeat. Lately, I haven't been succeeding. I've been selfish and preoccupied, tired, stressed, and grumpy. Tonight reaffirmed that I need to refocus myself on you because my time to do so is growing shorter.

I want you to know that no matter what, I'm trying so hard to make sure that when you reach out your arms, they never ever come back empty. Because of all the hopes I have for you in the world, my biggest hope is that you never ever stop reaching.