When my daughter was born on Tuesday, May 24, 2016, I stayed up most of the night. I went back-and-forth between holding her in my arms and staring at her in the hospital's bassinet next to my bed, while also oddly choosing to watch Grey’s Anatomy on my laptop.
She was so beautiful.
I couldn't stop looking at her.
She had the cutest little button nose and her complexion resembled a great tan after a day at the beach. I was obviously biased but she was the prettiest baby I’d ever seen. She was perfect, and I was trying to process that she was really mine to keep forever.
Everything changed for me that night. My life now had a purpose. I had someone to love unconditionally. Someone who needed me. Someone so small, but now she had my whole heart.
With her in my arms, I found a peace that I had never felt before. There were no other thoughts in my mind, and nowhere else I wanted to be.
My life was now ours.
These past eight years, I've found myself staying up late on the nights before her birthday. Once she fell asleep, sometimes in my bed, I would spend the late-night hours finishing up my homemade decorations and putting up streamers and balloons of her favorite colors. I taped birthday signs, streamers, and balloons to the outside of her bedroom door and filled the walls of her first apartment and rental home with lots of colorful decorations.
And when I finally got to bed, sometime after midnight, I laid anxiously awaiting for her surprised excitement when she woke up the next morning ready to celebrate the beginning of another year.
Why?
Why did I do this?
Because I not only love her, but I knew how happy it would make her. That’s what kept me going, until every last decoration was in its place, no matter how tired I may have been. It was all for her.
So, year after year, I have dedicated my time, my love, and all of my energy to making it as special as I could. Just for her.
I still remember each one of those nights, as I used Sharpies to draw and color some of her favorite characters over the years: Mickey Mouse, Cinderella, Elsa & Anna, My Little Ponies, and so many others.
This year was no different, but I'll admit that I struggled a bit more than I had in years past. My little girl has grown so much, and her birthday gifts we no longer created by trips down toy aisles on a Target run.
For months leading up to her eighth birthday, she threw ideas at me for party plans and expensive presents:
A trampoline park. Gymnastic class. Sleepover with all of her friends.
As her hopes and wishes got bigger, it crushed me to have to say no. I knew that having lots of kids in our house wasn't going to work, and couldn’t justify the costs of having a party at a local venue.
Honestly, I struggled to afford any of her birthday wishes, let alone all of them.
Here I was, comparing off-brand prices and searching for change in the bottom of my purse to pay for weekly groceries after my monthly budget added five weeks of summer camp fees, so planning a big bash and funding a mini-shopping spree just wasn't going to have a place on my one and only debit card.
But I didn't want to pop the plans for her eighth birthday, so I did what I do best. I put all of my love, time, and energy into making her birthday as special as I could.
This year’s chosen theme?
Taylor Swift, of course.
She even came up with her own Era's inspired signage: Welcome to Emma's Eight-Year-Old Era.
Her creative mind had so many ideas, which likely came more from YouTube and not a secret Pinterest account, and so I did my best to make her wildest decoration dreams come true.
Colored fringe of each album era hanging from the ceiling of her playroom walls.
Windows covered with aesthetic Taylor pictures and clip art, courtesy of the color printer and laminator at work.
An array of favorite snacks, labeled with some of Taylor's song titles and lyrics.
Matching pajamas that represented some of the eras:
Pink- Lover
Blue- 1989
Black- Reputation
Swiftie stickers, 13 tattoos, friendship bracelets, heart-shaped glasses, Ring Pops, candy necklaces, face masks, and spa headbands.
Somehow, I pulled it off.
Grocery store pick-up orders, affordable decorations Dollar Tree and Hobby Lobby, and the last-minute Amazon deliveries for fringe that matched Taylor’s eleven different album eras.
Then many days of planning and preparing, followed by hours of getting everything set-up before she got home from school.
I cut-up fruit, decorated her annual chosen Rice Krispies Treat cake, and made a batch of cookie dough, while they danced and sang their hearts along to the Taylor Swift Eras Tour concert.
She was so excited to show off her party room to all visiting friends and family members over Facetime. And my sore body and tired mind knew it was worth it.
I couldn't gift her Eras Tour tickets, but I could make the beginning of her Eight-Year-Old Era a weekend that she will remember, all too well.
I know I will too.
I’m going to be completely vulnerable and share something I’ve rarely openly shared with anyone, including myself:
After becoming a mom to my daughter eight years ago, I hoped to have another child.
It's probably not a big surprise, especially for those who know me well and my affinity for kids, and how fitting my career as a Child Life Specialist is for me. I am in true peace holding a baby, and full of pure joy around kids, loving that you never really know what they are going to do or say next.
But as I watched my daughter grow up, life took me in an unexpected direction and therefore, only allowed me to have one child of my own.
I’ve come to terms with it, feeling grateful for the one child that I do have. She really is the love of my life, and I’ve always known that she was meant to belong with me, divinely planned during this unforeseen chapter in my life.
I physically dreamed of her long before I was pregnant, and intuitively knew she was a girl before it was revealed in the ultrasound.
When she was born, I was given the greatest gift: A daughter, cuddle buddy, sidekick, mini-me, and best friend, all in one.
She makes me laugh and smile on the gloomiest of days and gives me the tightest and most loving hugs when I just need to feel something. She’s helped me feel less alone as my family life has fallen apart over the years, and because of her, I’m not as fearful of what our future holds.
Now I’ll be even more vulnerable and admit that I don’t always feel like I’ve been able to be the mom I want to be. I don’t always have the energy to play with her or the money to take to all the places I’d love for us to go. I struggle to make too many plans and promises, simply because I never know what physical symptoms may arise for her dad or how emotionally drained from it all I may feel.
She's too young to understand how much I've struggled, but she's seen my tears. She hears all of my I Love You's, and when she's older and maybe has a child of her own, she'll finally know just how much I really do.
One day, when she’s old enough to understand her dad’s real story, I’ll tell her how difficult it really was and how hard I fought for her and her dad. I know that day will come, but until then, I hope she just continues to live as innocent and fearless as she can.
Happy Eight-Year-Old Era to my Emma Grace. I love you to the moon and to Saturn.
My love for you is so very delicate, and I am the lucky one to be your mom.
Love