Eight

Dear 8 Year Old Mira,

I’m watching you swim in the pool, drenched by the summer heat for what feels like the hundredth time this year. You are wearing a green bathing suit and neon pink goggles, and your sun-streaked hair is flowing wildly in the water.

Your twisted bathing suit straps look uncomfortable, but you put it on yourself—so much progress from last summer. My offers to fix it have all been shrugged off; it's just another reminder that you're growing up.

This is the summer when your tippy toes finally reach the bottom of the shallow end. The summer, your favorite Bluey towel is “for babies.” The summer you perfected your cannonball – sort of – but I tell you how big your splash was every time.

Your jumps are getting higher, but you stop to check the backs on your gold seashell earrings often enough to remind me you are still my little girl. You look over and catch my eye before your next jump to ensure I see you.

Our conversations flow from talks of the camp play you are rehearsing and "Despicable Me" movies to nail polish trends and your anxious feelings about third grade. Some days, your never-ending chattering is more than I can handle. But today, I am taking it in among the splashing, laughter, and warm summer breeze. I want to keep this version of you in my heart forever.

I want you to remember that you are strong, brave, and capable of anything. I am cheering for you through endless pool jumps as well as difficult life choices. When you look over your shoulder at 12, 21, and 35 remember, I'll be watching like I was when you were 8.

I hope you'll think back to the summer when you were eight with the warmest memories. We're getting closer to the time when you won't need me, or want me, around as much. But for now, I'm taking in every wet-fresh-out-of-the-pool hug, underwater kiss, and "mom look!" that I can. These days seem long, but I know the years are going by too fast.

Keep swimming, my girl, and happy 8th birthday.

Love,

Mom