No matter how I type that number, it still seems surreal. How can you possibly be 11? It seems like yesterday that I was in a delivery room with a team of L&D nurses yelling at me to push harder so you wouldn't be born on 9-11. And now, here we are...here I am...with an eleven year old.
Not a day goes by where you don't smother me with kisses, and tell me that you love me a million times over. There are some silly people who say, "Oh, enjoy it while it lasts. Pretty soon, she'll be too embarrassed to kiss you!" or "Just wait until she's a teenager and wants nothing to do with you!" I always just smile; they have no idea. I can't imagine a time where you won't crawl on my lap, where you won't nestle your head in my neck, where you won't whisper, "I love you, Mama, SOOOOOO much!" in that raspy voice. Let there be naysayers--I refuse to believe them. Your gift is that you love--your age has nothing to do with it.
It amazes me how loving you are--if everybody was as accepting and kind as you are, this world would be such a better place.
When I pray over you and Jenna every night, the words may be the same, but they are full of meaning. The most important part: "Please bless her life like she has blessed mine..." If this is as much as I'll ever be blessed, it's enough.
I love you all the stars,