Do you know your imperfections might be my favorite part of you? That the little things that no one would ever notice, are the things I look forward to seeing most?
I love the way you talk too loud, and how no matter sacred or silent a place we find ourselves in, the decibel of your voice never lessens.
I love the way you always want your hair to be wild and free. That regardless of how meticulously we brush it, within two hours it will become a dreadlock-mess – just the way you like it.
I love how you try to make mischief, but don’t even really know how to be anything but the goody-goody you are deep down.
I love how you create in chaos, with markers, paints, crayons, and scissored bits laying in heaps all around the table. Your glitter-encrusted hands brightening whatever they touch.
I love that you refuse to wear collared shirts, even when they are my favorite, but then replace them with grey hoodies zipped up tightly like I won’t ever notice it is not what I laid out for you at all.
I love that when you whine and pout, you absolutely know you will not get your way, but you still default to it anyway … just-in-case your daddy and I temporarily abandon all of our parenting beliefs for this single, tantrum occasion.
I love how smart you are at everything, but how you never act as sure as you have every right to be.
I love how even when we ask you, and ask you, and ask you not to leave the table at dinner, you find a way to suddenly NEED to visit the bathroom, or get another napkin, or refill your water cup, just as an excuse to stand and get out your wiggles.
I love how you are never tired at bedtime, but you know I desperately am, and you ask me to lay with you, and read to you, until I fall asleep beside you.
You are not perfect dear ones … but you are perfectly imperfect for me.