My sweet Arlandria,
It is now midnight, which means seven hundred and thirty days ago I heard you cry for the first time. Piercing and loud, I gasped when I first heard your tiny voice. I looked up at your dad, because he was able to see you over the surgery curtain. I saw the look of awe in his eyes when he heard you cry. He was as mystified as I was, for your cry filled the sterile corners of the tiny operating room. Long and loud, it demanded to be known.
Looking back now, I realize that cry was the first spark of the wildfire that is your life.
Tonight I heard that same cry as you woke up from a nightmare. This time that cry was also paired with a shout of "Mommy," which made me immediately run to you. You've been having nightmares lately. This is something that I realize comes with this age in life, but it doesn't make it any less painful. So I went to you, like I always do, and cuddled you close. I gave you your doll that you had lost in the dark, and we laid together as our breathing slowly started to intertwine into a nighttime melody. It made me wish I could take all your exhales and store them up so tightly, so that maybe I could capture your babyhood for just a little longer.
Arlandria, you have grown so much over the past two years. You are truly my little wildfire, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You have a huge personality to be so tiny of a human. Some days I wonder how it is that you manage to fit so much emotion, passion, and joy into such a tiny body. When you are mad, you do not try to hide it. You are like your mama in that way; always wearing your heart on your sleeve. And when you don't have a good nap? Heaven help all who fall into the trajectory of your wrath.
You never meet a stranger, and joyfully accept everyone that walks into your life. There are times that your lack of stranger danger frightens me. You wave hello to people at Target, and pat any baby that is shorter than you on the head. Your teachers in class tell me you are friends with everyone, and like to play with all the kids in your class.
This year you and I both were challenged as you spread your wings and tried new things. You cultivated your love of the outdoors in your Tinkergarden class. I learned to loosen the reigns a bit and let you learn at your own speed and style. I learned that you seldom like to sit down, but will still listen attentively if you are standing. You like mud, and the more of it, the happier you are. You explore through taste and sometimes that has come to bite you in the butt. You enjoy challenge, and often try to take on things that are far bigger than you are.
You also started taking ballet lessons. At first, this was my dream for you. I always wanted to be a ballerina myself, but genetics got the best of me, so that dream never came to fruition. Still, I enrolled you so I could live out my tutu fantasies, and promised myself that we would only go until you stopped enjoying it. To my surprise, you loved it. Not only did you love it, you thrived in it. Now don't get me wrong, you are not a ballet prodigy (for now). But you discovered a joy for music and movement that I didn't know you had.
I love to watch you dance, because you never follow the crowd. You dance in the opposite direction of the class, oftentimes shaking your butt in the mirror and making faces at yourself. Despite this, you are in your element and truly joyful. Your mischievous smile always comes to play, and you move without reserve or restraint.
If I could sum up your second year of life in one word, it would be this: emotion. Big feelings and small, you have canvased them all. You have your daddy's sense of mischief, and you have more drama than anyone I know (besides myself.) You love your sister with your whole heart, and have created a connection with her that is unique and all your own. You are sassy and silly. Your fire is contagious and spreads quickly, enveloping everything and everyone it touches with your flames of love and joy.
I heard once how the indigenous people of America used to do controlled burns of the forests and lands that they inhabited. They did this for so long that it created the rich and lush landscapes that European colonizers found so beautiful. They burned their lands in order to promote growth; fires that were thought to destroy actually helped forests grow back stronger and more adaptable than before. This year was a year of burning for you. You let out your flames of emotions as your learned to tame and master them. You let go of your infant trees in order to grow stronger ones for childhood.
So on your second birthday I wish you this: I hope you continue to burn, my little wildfire.
Pull on your yellow rain boots and burn.
Burn and leave no tree untouched.
I cannot wait to see you grow.
Love,
Your Mother.
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