Now Playing: The Best Day by Taylor Swift (I'm five years old, it's getting cold, I've got my big coat on. I hear your laugh and look up smiling at you, I run and run. Past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides, look how the sky is gold. I hug your legs and fall asleep on the way home)
Dearest Five,
You're finally starting school and you're super duper trooper excited. You get Fridays off and you just chill watching Hi-5 and hanging out with daddy, who takes you to the zoo and the aquarium about a million times this year but you never ever get bored of it. You've started having a serious dress obsession which you haven't quite shaken off yet. Seriously. Eleven years later and your wardrobe is still about 99% dresses.
On the topic of school, dearest Five, pre-primary has a two hour lunch break, and yet you still can't manage to finish half a sandwich. Work on that, dearest Five, because soon you'll have to perfect the art of eating breakfast whilst running for the bus.
Your best friend is a jerk. I hate to break it, but I have no idea how a five year old could be such a jerk. Silly, selfish, childish, pedantic, insufferably annoying, yes, but proper full blown teenage jerkiness? Only you would manage to find someone so horrible; you seem to have a thing for jerks. You put your little hand over his and taught him how to write his 's's properly when all the teachers tried and failed. He's got brown curly hair and chocolate coloured doe eyes and an adorable cherubic face and you think he looks like Prince Charming. You have a massive fight and don't speak to each other ever again and it breaks your little heart. And then you get over it. You have a three second rebound rate. I wish I still had that.
Dearest Five, you've started to learn to play the piano and you love it, even though your six second attention span makes the mammoth task of five minutes of practice a day slightly problematic. Don't ever stop dancing and singing and making music and smiles. You can finally write now, although for some inexplicable reason you write backwards like Leonardo da Vinci. I can't do that now if I tried, but I guess you've always been special. Also, you've written in the Pre Primary graduation book that you want to be a gardener. WTF?
Dearest Five, I wish I could have prepared you for your hospital trip. It was very sudden and scary and I wish someone could have told you, but it was an emergency and no one could. It never really occurred to you that you're different and because of that you'd have to go through so much. You were so little and bubbly and innocent and that hospital stay took some of that away from you, changed you a little bit, and it still makes me cry. You were scared and confused and lonely and everything hurt. The pain was bewildering and mind blowing but the fear...the fear was unspeakable. But don't cry, dearest Five. It makes Mummy sad.
Dearest Five, this year was tough. But it was also beautiful, magical, and filled your little baby eyes with awe. You've got a new scar to add to your collection, but don't let it get you down - it's a battle scar, baby. Every day I see it and I remember how brave you were back then, scared and alone but still trying to be yourself, still smiling and chattering away to the nurses and trying to make Mummy laugh. Never be ashamed of your scars, dearest Five. They're badges of honour.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
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