Sena Rose, the child who made me a mother, turned ten yesterday. For her birthday, she asked for an antique desk, a digital camera, a giant family dinner with pot roast and pound cake, and a disco dance party as soon as things settle down. Maybe you need to know her to understand how perfectly fitting these little details are, to know how these bits and pieces map her personality as well as any string of adjectives ever could.
She has grown up so much the past few weeks, proving to be the most considerate helping hand, picking things up and organizing, always closing closets and cabinets left ajar, straightening shoes left by the front door. At this very moment as I steal away to drink a cup of coffee and try to find the right words to explain just how proud I am of her, she is upstairs singing to her baby sister, made up lyrics sung loudly with complete abandon, filled with love and devotion. I hope this is your happiest year yet, Sena.