Today my little Coco turns 10.
Coco is short for the nickname her oldest brother gave her at birth . . . Cocowawamoncheriesweetiepiebabydollkisses. Coco is easier to say, remember, and spell. Big brother was 10 when she was born. That realization grabs me in the gut and drips out of my eyes.
How time flies.
She is the oldest of the littles, a baby to the bigs, living in the constant tension of where she belongs.
Right now she belongs with Colliewam, her stuffed collie, and her gray knit cap. She rarely faces a day without it pulled onto her head.
She belongs with her big sister’s tennis shoes on her hard-to-fit feet, and even though we can go out and buy the exact same pair sans holes, she holds out that these shoes are the ones she wants to wear!
She belongs with a Pandora charm bracelet on her wrist, even though I was 42 when I got my first charm bracelet and reminded her of that often when she asked.
She has a generous cousin whose love-language is gifts and who never ceases to amaze me with his thoughtfulness. He had her name this Christmas.
She belongs with big emotions and big feelings and big words.
She has always had lots of words.
I want to have a lot of words. Clever, loving, warm, nurturing, mothering words.
I am at a loss.
I don’t have lots of words.
I love this girl. She drives me crazy. She sets off every trigger that could possibly be buried inside of me and then, for good measure, finds a few more.
She is witty and clever and makes me laugh and speaks truth and makes me cry and is so full of personality that I can’t imagine life without her.
Happy Birthday, Coco! Welcome to Double Digits.