Dear Maya,

They don't make awards for daughters; but, if they did you'd certainly have a trophy shelf full.  And not even just for the ones you'd award yourself:

Most beautiful

Most fancy

Best dancer

Most hilarious

I know...I know...you tell us all the time and I'm sure you're right.

But how about:

Class clown. No one is quicker with a silly face or a new character's voice to get a giggle going.

Best actress. From the time you were a baby, you knew how to pretend.  To be hurt so we'd stop and you could race past us.  To be heartbroken so you'd get extra treats.  To be asleep so you could snuggle awhile longer.  To be cleaning your room so...well I don't know what that ones about but I'm sure you have your reasons.

Most likely to be famous.  Or infamous, whatever... as long as people scream your name, right?
Best laugh.  I mean, seriously, it fills up the room.
Most creative.  Your stories alone can stop me in my tracks.  Is she telling the truth?  Is it a lie?  I'll probably never know for sure... but it sure makes for good dinner conversation.

And on and on.

You, my last love, are so much more than anyone could have planned on or guessed.  You are everything all rolled up in one tiny little person.  Nothing was left out when you were made... except maybe a little humility and whatever it is that creates an even keel.  Lord knows I wouldn't know what that's called, let alone what that would be like.

Happy double digits, mija.  Thank you for letting me get you this far.  Thank you for holding my hand even today when we walked the halls of your school to lunch.  Thank you for keeping me company every Sunday morning during my quiet coffee time.  Thank you for still fitting on my lap.  And, thank you for letting me love you all the way.

Always, mama.