Open Letter To My Daughter

Dear Little Seventh Heaven,

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you.

I’m not such a great fan of mirrors. May be because I’m very shy. The image in the mirror will go something like, “damn girl! you sexy piece of sh*t…” then I will feel sheepish and be like, ah stop…! Not to mean I don’t stand in front of one to check whether my BTM is reaping the benefits of my daily squats. Not even to mean I don’t stand there cursing this pimple for threatening to diminish my enthusiasm. I mean, I don’t stand there too long to give it the pleasure of addressing the blackheads, trying to persuade them to lay still beneath the concealer and thus stealing the thunder off my hands. And so, I honestly can’t tell how long it’s been before I noticed this gray strand of wisdom on the left frontal of my head, but I’m certain by the time this letter is getting to you, I will have lots of such wisdom having descended from above and my hair will be something like Charity Mwamba’s. Oh! I can already imagine.

You know, today and every other day, I am compelled to agree with Alan Beck where he says, “Little girls are the nicest things that happen to people. They are born with a little bit of angel-shine about them, and though it wears thin sometimes, there’s always enough left to lasso your heart.” Truth! That’s the truth babe. Because even when I’m fed up with the tantrums, ah! your eyes! Your so beautiful, most lovely eyes; there’s magic in them. When I stare into them, they melt every frozen part of my heart and it swells with love. I feel this is a life worth it’s weight in gold because of you. I cannot get over the fact that I have a daughter as perfect as you. There’s a comfort to having you beside me, as if we have become a pair of sentinels.

When you were yet to be made,
I wrote 2 letters; ‘To my Unborn daughter’
I always knew I was going get a daughter first.
When you were made,
I wrote yet another, ‘To my unborn daughter’
For 39weeks, I knew twas a girl,
My intuition.

When you were born;
“It’s a girl.” Said the nurse.

I sighed with relief,
Smiling with nostalgia,
My dream had come true.
It’s a girl….a girl….a girl…

When you were a day old,
I wanted you to be a month,
So I could hold you comfortably,
Without fear of hurting your neck,
When you were a month,
I wanted you to be two,
So I hold you without a shalw,
When you were two,
I wanted you to be six
So I could start feeding you,
I longed to use the little bowl and spoon I’d bought just for you.

When you were six,
I wanted you to be 9,
So I could hold your hands and teach you to walk.
When you were 9,
I wanted you to be 12,
So you could walk on your own.
When you were 12,
I wanted you older so we could sing, dance and talk.
Now that we’re talking, dancing and singing,
I want you older so you could read this letter and know how happy you made me.
I want you older so you could go to school. I want you older so I could discover you,
Not like I don’t know you love sugar but dislike sugary stuff.
Not like I don’t know you love grapes and mangos, and melon.
Not like I don’t know you love your milk with chocolate and a little pinch of sugar,
Not like I don’t know you love to peel bananas but hate to eat them,
Not like I don’t know you have two right hands,
Not like I don’t know what makes you tick,
Not like I don’t know how you cry when mad, sad or simply throwing tantrums…

But! when you are older,
I want to have known whatever makes you.
So that when you’re all grown and becoming,
I will tell you, ” aw baby, I knew you could do this when you were barely 4years.

You see, watching you grow has been filled with both joy and fear. I’m tickled pink to have such an adorable irresistible piece of ruby. Also worried over what this earthly concerns will do to you as you grow away from my overly protective arms. This World can be too cruel and filled with dark and ugly things as you grow older. How will I sit still while it breaks you in a process of molding you? I don’t know. Let me catch the bear first, I shall sell the skin later. But I know one thing, if you can see yourself through me, through my eyes, you will be well enough

Baby,
See your luster through my eyes,
Your Picture too.
I see the dekko you throw at me,
Whenever you’re in another’s arms,
Like you’re telling me,
“Mama I’m here for a spell, I’ll be with you in two shakes”

Look through me;
See your Strength,
Your Value,
Your Substance,
Your Power.

When you look in the mirror, see what I see….
Look through my eyes.
See a woman filled with Energy,
Hope,
Faith,
Promise…Life, abundant life.
And with love.

Keep your Spirit,
Your Appetite,
Your Passion,
Your Esteem,
Blow your own trumpet honey,
And of course, blow off your damn mind.
Marvel at your wins, all of them.
It sucks to lose, but it’s part and parcel.
See how you do it,
See how you say it,
See how you show it,
Keep your ducks in a row, as often.

Look through me;
See your Capability,
Your Ability,
Your Capacity.
See, it’s in your mind.
But see it through me.
Shut not your eyes to your flaws,
They mold you.
Champion them,
Have a pass on them more,
Bill and coo the flawsomeness,
Label them; when you own them, no one can use them against you.
They have power, take it.

See your mistakes too,
Through my eyes,
See how distinctly I imagine you,
Still and all
Think the World of yourself even when you’re failing,
Dote on yourself even at your worst.
Self love should be unconditional too.
Look at you, through me.

For always and forever

Sign: With love,

Mama

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