Friday, September 18, 2009

Letter to my Daughter

Dear Waverly,
Today is September 18th, 2009. You are four years old today. My daughter, my miracle, this is your story.

When you were a tiny baby in Mommy’s tummy, I knew we would love you and I knew you would be special. You spent a great deal of your womb-time on the ocean and it will always be a part of you. You, too, are salty and deep, full of life, close and then distant in your tides, equally prone to storm and beauty.
I delivered you into this world like a powerful tempest. Our ship nearly sank in your birthing, and I fell asleep so that you would be safe. I let the winds pull you from me and lay you like a breath, like a whisper into Daddy’s waiting arms.

And then you were my baby at last. My daughter. You dreamed tiny baby dreams and gripped with your tiny baby fingers and you nursed until your belly grew round as the Earth.

Soon you walked. You became a toddler. You said words like “I love you,” and “Quiet!” and you called your brother “Bridger-Man.” You went to the Toddler House and made great friends and colored lots of pictures of yourself. You have always been particularly deft with a crayon.

Sometimes you got angry. You still do. We used to think you were a changeling, switched at birth with an adorable but malicious goblin. You still like fairy tales and story time is your favorite time of day.

You have style. Few people can pull off a tiara while driving a John Deere. Actually, you’ve always liked to dress up and be fancy. You especially like makeups and shopping with Mommy and Gri-Gri.

You love to swim and bathe. When your feet touch the water, you legs turn to fins with sparkling scales. You were born with eyes the color of the ocean. Now they are green like a mermaid’s tale.

You are loud--Siren song loud, battle-cry loud, loud as the voice of God, and as beautiful.

You dance everywhere you go.

You belly-laugh in your sleep.

So far, in your life, you have been a cowgirl, a queen, a witch, a cheerleader, a ballerina, a princess, a pumpkin, a hockey-player, a rock star, a bumblebee, a home-run hitter, and a kick-boxer. You have accomplished much.

Animals love you. The feeling is mutual. You are kindred spirits.

You love babies. You are gentle and quiet with them and it’s one of my favorite things about you. Someday you will be an amazing mother.

You fear nothing. You are the queen of superlatives: everything must be faster, higher, taller, bigger, louder. Even before you could talk, your first sign was “more.”

You are, hands-down, the best snuggler on the planet. And you give really good kissy-fests.

You tell fantastic stories. Few writers can connect pirates, Barbies, and tornadoes in a single plot line with any plausibility. Consider yourself gifted.

You sing with your entire being. You especially like show tunes.

We think someday that you’ll be an actress on the stage.
We’re sure someday you’ll change the world.



  1. Breathtakingly beautiful. My dear Ms. Powell, you truly have a gift. Please do the world a favor and find more ways to share it.

  2. I second Jacob's sentiments. Beautiful! And happy 4th birthday to your baby girl.