Dear Eliza,

Today is your third birthday.  It's hard to believe it's been three years since that morning when your dad drove me to the hospital, the contractions sporadic, and I sitting in the car wondering if I was really, truly ready to be a mama.  I'll spare you the labor story.  Just know it was a long day of waiting, wondering if you were ever going to get here.  You didn't like to be rushed.  You don't like to be rushed now.

I will never forget that first morning after you were born.  Your daddy and I had some quiet time together in the hospital room to just hold you and marvel over you.  Daddy's eyes turned red with unshed tears as he held you and studied your fingers.  He looked at me, and he said, "I'm in trouble.  She's already got me wrapped her tiny little finger."  I understood the sentiment perfectly.  Suddenly, the whole world opened up.  Here was a little person I would move mountains for, who already filled my prayers every night before bed, who filled me with awe every time she opened her eyes.  And we'd just  met.

I can't tell you what a joy the past three years have been.  You were a sweet baby.  You smiled early and you smiled often.  You were a fantastic sleeper (thank you so much for that, my girl).  We read books together, snuggled, and played on the floor.  You had my undivided attention and unadulterated adoration.  Again, you would not be hurried, and started crawling around eight months, getting your first tooth just before that.  Nor could you be hurried to walk; I thought you'd never let go of my hand and step out on your own (and oh, how I've already learned to miss you holding to my hand!).  You gained your independence a few months after your first birthday, and you haven't looked back.  However, you had already learned that your laughter charmed others and you developed a machine-gun burst of chuckles that delighted everyone who heard it.

As a toddler, you've proven to be a bit more independent, a bit more opinionated, but still sweet, so well-behaved, and patient when it counted.  When I was so tired carrying your brothers, you never fussed if we stayed home.  I still remember one morning when I accidentally fell asleep on the couch, inadvertently leaving you to your own devices.  I woke up to your soft little hand on my arm.  You smiled at me, as if checking to make sure I was okay, and went back to playing.  I am so grateful that you are not a climber, a daredevil, a "let's-test-this-out" sort that would have gotten into trouble when I felt so dragged down by early pregnancy.

These past few years have proven to us just how smart you are.  You built your vocabulary quickly, and I still remember the heart-pounding glee of hearing you say "Mama" and "Daddy" and "I love you" those first times.   Soon you were talking in full sentences, and then paragraphs.  I just learned at your three year check-up that at three they are expecting you to be speaking in three to four word sentences.  Ah, yes.  We passed that at age two, didn't we?  You learned your alphabet with only a little help from me, your numbers with only a little more guidance than that, and your colors practically all on your own.  You learn songs very quickly; currently Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is your favorite, but with Christmas coming it might be edged out by Jingle Bells.  We are starting preschool with you in the new year because I feel like I might be holding your natural curiosity back otherwise.  You love to pretend in your play.  You are often giving check-ups to Simon and I or your dolls; you go to school with a baby as your backpack; you have cut my hair with any number of not-really-scissors inordinate times.

Here are the things I love most about you, though: you are a loving sister to your brothers, both Simon and Levi, even if Simon is a bit more challenging at this moment; you love your friends and your family, always wanting to spend time with them; you are patient (especially for a toddler) and good; you are kind and love to learn.  You have a sweet and joyful spirit, and I pray that never changes.

And have I mentioned that you're beautiful? You're so beautiful.

I feel the burden of being your mama, of worrying whether I am doing a good enough job for you, whether I am worthy of you.  I want to give you the world and yet I want to help build your character, which means I need to let you work to gain that world.  I want you to grow up to be an exemplary woman, a grown-up version of what you are now, and I know that to guide you to that, I need to somehow be that myself, or at the least put you in the path of those that can help you, not hinder you.  That above all, I need to introduce you to Jesus.  I know that I can't be perfect, that you won't be perfect, and I pray for the wisdom to every day balance that out so that we both learn and grow.  That it's okay for us to learn from each other's mistakes, and that I definitely need to own up to mine.  Most of all, I'm praying that our lives will show you the value and worth there is in following Jesus, that there is no better life.

As you grow up, baby girl, just remember how much I love you.  Know that even though I'm still learning what it is to be a mama and how to be a good one, that I'm doing it so I can be the best mama I can be for you and your brothers.  Please, continue to love your family, continue to love to learn.  I pray that nothing dampens that precious spirit.  And above all, baby, please love Jesus.  Please love the only Man who will never fail you, never leave you, who will always love you.  Follow Him wherever He leads, and I promise, promise, promise you, you will be blessed.

So much more love than I can ever describe,
Your Mama