Dear Sofia,

Twelve.

Twelve years old.

My first born child is another year older today.  Wow.

Living with my preteen is challenging.  The eye rolling, foot stomping, shoulder slumping, arguing, whining, complaining, comparing, and the sighing (oh, the sighing) is a lot to deal with every day.  When they're two, you can count to ten before taking a deep breath and moving on.  A few years later, you have to count to a hundred,
take a deep breath,
picture rainbows and bunnies,
take a swig straight from the bottle of mama's special juice,
walk outside,
ask the first person you see to remove all the sharp objects from your house,
write a quick confession on the back of a cupcake recipe,
and then maybe you can move on.

But loving my preteen is easy.  The straight A's, the gentle side, the goofy laugh, the bearable clarinet playing, the beautiful eyes, and the impressive personality are a gift.  Sofia is the first person I ever knew I could stick it out with.  I know she and I have only begun the battle that most mothers and daughters have to endure.  We have a long way to go before the seas even out and we no longer want to toss each other overboard.  But one day, many many many many temper tantrums from now (hers and mine), she and I are going to laugh about the years we spent fighting to get back to each other. 

So, my gorgeous girl, Happy Birthday.  And, in case I forget to mention it every day until the next one, I am so proud to have you as a daughter.  I couldn't have asked for a better challenge, though maybe one that starts after my second cup of coffee...

Always,

Mama