Fair warning: Things are about to get soppy.
Our baby India turns thirty today, the same age I was when pregnant with her. As a dear friend once noted: Time is a total mind Eff.
She came into this world beautiful. Even taking into consideration the flood of maternal hormones meant to make a new mother think her infant is beautiful, I stand by my first impression. She was a perfect baby in all ways but one. And it was a big one. She did not sleep. She had zero interest in it. Life was just too fabulous to greet with eyes closed.
Trying to contain her as a child was futile. Sometimes I felt as though Jonathan and I just had to step aside and let her go. I’m sure there were friends/family/teachers/hotel staff at the time who wondered why we didn’t rein her in but we followed our instincts and I believe we were right. The kid burns bright.
She throws herself full force into everything. School. Travel. Family. Friendship. Work. Love. I’ve always marveled at her generosity of spirit, which sounds phony or corny but she’s all that. You don’t have to believe me because it’s true. She is fearless and fierce. She loves bigly.
She can be a total pain in the tush.
Next year, she’ll be a bride. She’s chosen a partner who is every bit as strong and full of life and love and fire as she which is going to make their marriage wonderful and tricky and exciting wherever they land in this world.
Happy birth day, India.