To Maya, on your seventh birthday
Maya, you are seven today, and this morning you told me you are basically eight. You are not. Enjoy seven.
This year you rode your bike without the wobble, lost two teeth and decided cilantro is a personal enemy. I would not change a thing, except maybe the cilantro.
When you read this one day, I hope you still ask a hundred questions before breakfast. Keep the questions. The answers can take their time.
Happy birthday, kiddo. Cake is at four.
MAKE IT YOURS