A week ago yesterday, my first baby girl turned nine.
Normally I’m on top of this kind of stuff. And Ava, because you are my daughter, you will one day look back into the troves of Internet history, you will see that in 2013 I didn’t write a post about your birthday until over a week after your birthday. You will inevitably read into this many things – neglect, ill will, suppressed resentment.
None of that will be correct. The sad and less interesting truth is that I am busy and I’m incredibly skilled at putting things off when I don’t want to face them.
And I don’t want to face the fact that you’re getting older.
I remember being young. And I don’t want you to have the moments I had. The times of being convinced that no one understood, no one cared. The preteen-erotica and angsty-poetry writing hours.
I know feeling that way is normal. And necessary.
But you’re so fantastic.
Never lose that.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I love you.