Happy Birthday, Jannah-Rae.
I love you.
I woke up extra early, and went to bed extra late last night, to get things ready for your big day. I dangled streamers, blew up balloons, and hung up a banner. I baked a cake, frosted it and hid it away. I planned the surprise party with the school, I sneaked in the treats. I wanted to be ready for you today. I wanted to be prepared.
When you came to us on your own time that cold January morning in 2010, I was not ready, we were not prepared. My bag was not packed, my journal was not complete, my pregnancy scrapbook was still missing photos. I still had appointments to make and things to do. I had work deadlines and shopping lists. We still had not bought you a crib, and we hadn't yet decided about a changing table. We needed sheets for you, and blankets, a bouncy seat and a play mat. You needed a "going home" outfit. I needed more time. Yes, we were not ready; but you certainly were.
Since then, I have been trying to be ready for you, to be prepared for your wants and needs and yet I never am. You are your own little self, my dear, and always one step ahead. I do my best, and you do your part just as well. Together we keep each other in check. I tell you to be thankful for what you have, to be happy with what you got, to enjoy what is here. You look to what more could be had, what can be improved, what else needs to be done. With my reminders you balance yourself and remember to be content. You are content. But you are also ambitious. You are eager. But you are also patient. You are loud. But you are also quiet. You are a mysterious mix of seeming contradictions. You are everything you were meant to be.
"Happy Birthday," the banner above your head read, repeatedly covering the entire length of the wall. Happy Birthday, it sure will be.