Charo+Mike » Blog

eight.

You’re eight years old. EIGHT YEARS OLD!

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Oh Beanie. You’re such an amazing little girl. Sorry, BIG girl. Watching you grow up and become the incredible person you are today… that’s been the absolute best part of the last eight years. You and I have experienced so much together… lost teeth, Santa cookies, road trips, tickle time, Sunday pancakes, an endless parade of pets… the nonstop search for Duckie, who is always lost just when you’ve needed him for bedtime.

Only you don’t need Duckie for bedtime anymore. That’s how I know you’re really eight years old now. Maybe Duckie will just sleep in our bed from now on. Surely he’s a little lonely.

All these years, and all these memories… and so many more memories to make! I must have fifteen thousand photos on my hard drives… all of you, you and me, silly things we’ve done, places we’ve gone… pictures you asked me to take of your bears, your Duckie, your toys. I can only imagine how many hard drives we’ll fill up over the years to come.

 

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on, Pie. Everything from those big brown eyes to that heart-melting smile, and all the way down to your silly little toes. And let’s not forget your little HANDS. Those hands, wow. I’ve always been in love with those little hands. They started out so pudgy, dimpled knuckles and sausage thumbs. Now, they look like tiny versions of my hands. Maybe it sounds a little weird, but every time you put your tiny hand in mine, my heart jumps just a little bit. I love holding your hand. I guess it won’t be long before you won’t need to hold my hand across the street or in crowds. So maybe I soak it in a little more now, while I still have the chance. Time goes by so fast.

I loved being your official party-booth photographer last weekend, and meeting all the kids from school. I loved watching you play and talk with your girlfriends, and I especially loved watching your face light up when you opened your presents. I can’t wait to paint those wooden heart bobble things with you, and hopefully read a new Roald Dahl book together. Maybe we can squeeze into the recliner together and snuggle while we read. While you’re still small enough to sit on my lap. While you’ll still indulge me. I’ll take as much as I can get.

 


I love you, Miss Bean. To the moon and back.

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