For Eva on your 8th birthday
Eva,
I’ve been putting off writing your birthday letter this year, still in complete and utter denial that my baby girl is no longer a baby at all. And it’s funny because whilst I have been desperate to milk every last moment of you being seven, you’ve been counting down the days to your birthday for the last six months, desperate to be eight, desperate to be bigger.
And you are bigger, so much bigger in fact. Just yesterday I noticed it’s getting harder and harder to lift you into my arms, hit with the realisation that one day I’ll scoop you up, you’ll wrap your legs around my waist and nestle your head against my shoulder, and I won’t even know that it will be the last time. I look at you now and struggle to see any of those baby features we had grown so used to, your smile changing with every lost tooth, your legs growing slimmer and longer, your eyes older, wiser, more inquisitive than ever. I look at you and know that as much as I wish time would slow down, it is very much passing us by, and I won’t lie to you my darling, that breaks my heart just a little.
It’s strange because in so many ways I struggle to remember a life without you in it, and yet at the same time, when I think back to the day you were born and the overriding fear I felt that day, it feels just like yesterday. I will never forget that moment I heard you cry, when you opened your eyes for the first time and took my hand in yours, oblivious to just how much heartache you had healed in that instant. You were the most beautiful little rainbow in the darkest of storms and even now, eight years on, you still brighten the very darkest of days.
Seven has been a big year for you Eva, losing the safety blanket of infant school, moving up to juniors, having to gain your independence, build your confidence, and break away from the one person you have always relied on – your Meggy. It’s been difficult for you at times I know, but for the most part you have thrived this year, soaking up every aspect of learning, building on the most special friendships, and slowly but surely taking baby steps to overcome your shyness, You have come such a long way my darling girl and I am so proud of you.
It’s funny because wherever we go, whatever we do, you can guarantee that strangers will spot you at a distance, marvelling over your long blonde hair or those big blue eyes, and approach us to tell us just how beautiful you are. And you are so beautiful, there’s no denying that.
But what they don’t see is that you are even more beautiful on the inside with the kindest heart, the most caring nature and an unconditional love for those you hold dear. You are never happier than when you are cuddled up with your brothers and sister, or sat with your head against my shoulder; you are never more content than when your little hand is in mine, than when we are all together, when our days are filled with love and adventure. And they have been, well and truly.
We have had the most incredible time together this year, travelling far and wide, embracing the ordinary and celebrating the extraordinary. Seven was the year we started in the Isle of Man, revisiting the Summer’s of my childhood, climbing up to the top of Snaefell and Laxey Wheel, rolling down grass banks at Peel Castle, collecting shells on the seafront at Douglas, braving the wind as we explored hidden coves, warming up with hot chocolate and marshmallows at every stop.
It was the year we spent Easter in The Lakes, basking in the sunshine as we cruised across Windermere, paddled barefoot in the lake, fed swans, ate ice creams and hot chips straight from the wrapper. It was the year you were never happier than with a stick, a pile of dirt and your imagination, when Meggy was your best friend in all the world, Harry your partner in crime, and Lewis your absolute hero.
It was the year you fell in love with Italy in May, spending the entire week in the swimming pool, eating gelato twice a day and pizza every night. The year you jumped waves on Venice beaches and rode in a gondola on the rainiest of days; explored rainbow coloured islands and told me, “I wish we could stay here forever!” each night as I tucked you up in bed.
It was the year we spent the Summer on the road, just the six of us together, driving right the way down to Newquay where you amazed us all with your ability to surf right off the bat, no hesitation, no wobbles, no fear. It was the year I saw a look of confidence on your face for the very first time, a sense of real pride in your eyes, the first time I knew you could do anything at all if you just set your mind to it.
It was the year we travelled across the coast to Dorset, built sandcastles on the beach in Bournemouth and walked hand in hand along the promenade each night; it was the year we rolled down sand dunes, played ball games, searched in rock pools, when we woke to blue skies every single day for a whole week straight.
It was the year when sea sickness was your arch nemesis, the year you spent the entire sailing across to St Malo with your head in a paper bag, trying your very hardest to be brave. The year you swam in French seas with wild abandon, ate fresh crepes and French macarons, buried Daddy in the sand at any given opportunity, when you ran around in just your pants maybe for the very last time.
It was the year we travelled to Guernsey, skimmed stones on secluded beaches, visited light houses, danced on the castle rooftop at sunset, fished for crabs and collected seashells; the year you fell asleep every single night with your head on my pillow and a smile on your face.
It was the year you lived out your dreams at Spirit Riding Free camp for the second year running, when you, me and Meggy bundled into the same bed at night to keep warm in our teepee, when we lay awake far too late just looking up at the stars. The year you rode horses across Dartmoor with such confidence and poise, where you made friends and played games, where we ate afternoon tea on steam train and you told me you have never been happier.
It was the year we explored North Wales, enjoying our very first rip ride in Anglesey, where you had shrieked with excitement as we twisted and turned, the wind in your hair and your face flushed with laughter. The year we whizzed down forest rollercoasters and braved tree top high ropes, threw ourselves down zip lines, water chutes and helter shelters. It was the year when I enjoyed every single one of those moments just as much as you did.
It was the year when we ended our Summer up in Ullswater, just spending time together at the Lake or throwing “hot tub parties” after dark. The year you were silly, and a little bit crazy, without feeling remotely self conscious, maybe for the first time ever; the year I knew you’d had the best Summer of your life and you have told me as much, every single day since.
It was the year we flew to Cyprus for some Winter sun, when you swam in the pool each day, caught frogs and hunted for lizards, snorkelled in the sea and watched the sun set in my arms. The year you looked at a map of the world and told me you wanted to go everywhere, and see everything, and I promised that one day we would do just that,
It was the year when all of your dreams came true with a visit to Disneyland Paris, where you walked around for the first few hours in complete and utter silence, your little face flushed with excitement and your eyes brimming with happy tears. The year you watched the parades in disbelief, gave Jessie and Pluto the tightest of hugs, braved rollercoasters and watched shows and wore your Minnie Mouse ears from morning ’til night.
Your seventh year ended in Ireland where we hand fed giraffes and penguins, took selfies with rhino’s and stroked mischievous monkeys. The year we stayed up late in beautiful hotels, made fairy wishes at Blarney castle, spooked ourselves silly at Spike Island. The year we stood in the full force of Storm Dennis, our arms out stretched, our hair blowing upright, shouting into the wind, and laughing until our sides hurt as we made a run back for the car.
It was the year when every day was your greatest adventure and you deserved every single one of those moments Eva, and many, many more to come. Because for me, seven was the year I realised that if I work hard enough I can give you the world and with it all of these moments to enjoy and treasure for always. And not just the extravagant holidays or the expensive days out, but the ordinary moments too: the six of us at home watching movies in our pyjamas, trips out to the park, the beach, and walks in the woods.
Seven was the year I realised the importance prioritising time as a family, of how truly precious our time together is; the year I realised that I would do absolutely anything to give you a childhood to remember as before we know it, in no time at all, you will be children no more.
There’s a quote that I love which simply says, “One day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together”. And you did, and you do, and I will be forever grateful that you are mine and I am yours.
Happy 8th Birthday Eva Sienna, my beautiful little rainbow.
I love you all of the stars in the sky. xxx
