Gracie is ten

It seems crazy to be typing that title. Gracie -- my baby -- is ten. (Of course now that she is ten she would like to be called Grace instead. As her mother I have permission to continue calling her Gracie.)

Gracie is my firstborn. I remember bringing her home from the hospital and spending hours just staring at her as she slept in my arms. She slept in a lot of people's arms -- between me, Paul and my parents I am sure there were days that her little body barely touched her crib or her bouncy-seat.

As I have shared in other posts my road to motherhood was a long and difficult one. Paul and I had been told by doctors that we may never have children before embarking on a number of fertility regimes. We were blessed. We named her Grace for that reason. We wanted a constant reminder that this little person was our gift from God.

Gracie is the spitting image of me. No one ever questions that she is my daughter. Her personality is also a lot like mine: she is a type A perfectionist that spends far too much time worrying about things she can't control. It drives me insane partly because it is something I understand far too well.

She is a beautiful child. She is a talented artist -- she gets that from my mom-- drawing pictures that amaze both Paul and I. She designs clothing and has recently starting sewing. I have no doubt that she will be an artist one day. She is a fabulous dancer even without any formal training and she shines when she has a chance to perform (even though she worries herself almost sick beforehand).

Grace feels things more deeply than anyone I know. When she is happy or excited she has a look of joy on her face that is contagious. But she also feels pain more deeply. She is frequently out of money because she has given all of her savings to a worthy cause: breast cancer research, combating child labor in Pakistan or supporting orphans in Haiti. For her birthday each year my parents adopt an endangered animal at the Toronto Zoo in her name. This year my mom asked if she wanted something else. Grace was horrified: "Nana, the komodo dragon needs us!" She can't help herself. She will give her last cent to make someone's (or something's) life better.

She is painfully loyal. When she was three she refused to try blueberries. She told me that she really liked raspberries and felt that eating blueberries would be a betrayal. I had no words to argue with that.

She can't pick a favorite -- not a color, not a food or even a favorite moment from a trip. She would feel that she was betraying all of the others and gets teary-eyed if she even tries. Since then I have learned to ask: "tell me three things that you really liked about your day" so she does not have to pick one as superior to the others.

When she was little I used to pray that God would toughen her up a little bit. At seven she would get so sad about every squabble with a friend or B on her school work. I was -- and still am -- petrified of the hurts and disappointments that face as she gets older. However, as the years passed I stopped praying that prayer. Grace's ability to feel things so deeply is one of the things I admire most about her. As her mother I can never protect her from the world but I can be there to hold her hand or give her a hug whenever she wants one.

Gracie I love you dearly. You are my gift from God and He blessed me more than I ever could have imagined when you came into my life. Your momma loves you.