I'd like to say I have the time and inclination to write something eloquent today, but alas, I don't. I should, since today--July 10, 2015--marks Melina's 7th birthday. Seven! I can hardly believe we're already at that number. When the girls turned seven, Melina was a little over six months old. When Aaron turned seven, Melina was three and a half. I look at her now, at seven years old and think, Where did the time go? How did we get here already? And didn't we have a ball?
I'm not kidding when I make that last statement. As many of you know, life with Melina is literally, at times, a ball. As in a full-out formal gathering where we all dance. In tutus. Or ballgowns. Or tuxes or bathing suits. You name it, we've danced in it. But what I really meant is that the last seven years of raising Melina have been (for the most part) pleasant. Fun. Super even. And part of that is because Melina is difficult to describe in one word. I don't want to say that she is special--of course she is--because every one of my children is special (as are all of yours). But Melina lives and breathes a certain joy for life that I'm pretty sure I've spoken about before. If I try to come up with a list of words to describe her, this is what I'd include:
But as I said, not a single one of those words would cover the complexity embodied by my youngest child. And when I look at her, I can't help but be bombarded by every one of those qualities. Every day of her life. So, instead of dwelling on the enigma that she is, I smile. I wonder at her generosity. I gawk at her self-contentment. I long to soak up whatever energy she's emitting that day. And I'm mesmerized that I could have had any hand in the creation of such a being.
Happy Birthday, little one.