For Islabean

Jameson's "terrible two" phase lasted about a month. Right before he turned 3, I remember him being a little extra tantrumy, and mostly, being a misery at bed time. After dropping his nap and making some adjustments to our "schedule", he turned back into a functioning member of society. I mean, as much as a toddler can be. Jamie definitely has his own quirks, but I'm here today to discuss my middle child.

Andy calls Isla Uday. As in Uday Hussein. I call her my Sour Patch Kid, sour then sweet.

She's a love bug. When she's tired she will snuggle right up, and rub your arms and ears with such vigor that sometimes I'm afraid the friction may cause a fire. If anyone gets hurt, her little eyebrows will furrow and she'll lament, "awww you got a booboo? It's OK!" Her kisses are something magical, I wish I could bottle them and keep her little puckered baby lips with me always.

I spent the first two years of her life teaching her to walk and talk and now I spend most days telling her to sit and be quiet. I wish I more often had the grace and patience to realize her tantrums are her passion bubbling to the surface. Everything Isla does, she does BIG, a trait that would be admirable in any adult, but for some reason we try to squash in our children.

People the world over will call her bossy. A boss. A leader. Independent. I want her to be all these things, forever. I want to cultivate those traits now so she never compromises them.

My feisty spirited little girl, will some day be a feisty spirited woman, and I don't want anyone to stop that, myself included.

Dear Isla, I promise to spend more time working on myself instead of trying to dim your spirit because someone says you're too much of anything.
I know you're going to grow, even though I've tried to put a stop to that since I became mommy. So. Grow. Blossom. Learn and flourish. But never ever change.