little mermaid.

my little mermaid,

this year you turned four.  the ways you've changed!  you used to be a little butterball, nothing but rolls for days.  even then you were fiery and independent.  I wanted to keep you that roly poly bundle of baby, but you blossomed and I've loved every moment of it.

when I come see you, we play house in your room.  you tell me the rules and what to say and how to act, and I mostly comply and laugh at your spunk until we are both tired.  we curl up in your bed and create stories from our heads about mermaid princesses and rainbows and the magical lands they live in.  you get embarrassed when you suggest the princesses have boyfriends, and take it back almost immediately.  "never mind," you say, "I was just kidding."

your silly comment reminds me that you will grow, and grow, and grow like Jack's beanstalk, and there's no stopping it.  you won't stay like this forever, and that's ok.  if we can't keep you this way, we'll instead water your roots, grow you with love and creativity so that you'll stand true and tall in the sun, proud of who you've become.  I'm so lucky to have you little girl.