I remember your last birthday, and how I was hoping that time would pass very slowly this year, so that I would have you as a three-year-old for a long time. Now there's no turning back. You are four! And although I am hesitant to accept the fact that you'll never be three again (parenthood: that endless chain of hellos and goodbyes), I am completely thrilled to see you grow, to be by your side and live the privilege of being your mama. I am such a lucky soul.
Freja. You are truly something. Such force, such joy of life, and such volume of voice. You are heard from miles away, and I suspect that it will be like that through your whole life. You will let yourself be heard. I applaud that, my love, and it is a great comfort for a mother to know that your channel is straight and your throat is clear.
In becoming four, you have developed a wonderful tool of contemplation and wonder. You think about the most interesting stuff, and you ask the most mind-boggling questions. I suspect here too, that we are only at the beginning, and I am so curious of the future with you.
You are full of colour. Sensitive and with a heart full of love and compassion, and so comfortable and unafraid of the world, it is truly a joy to witness. We are so lucky to be in this family with you, and we love you so much it hurts.
Happy birthday, kråkebolla.
