June 16, 2014 – Smriti "Simmi" D. Isaac

An old post from six years ago on the occasion of my secondborn’s birthday today.

Dearest S:

Twelve years ago, today’s date, i.e., the 16th of June fell on a Sunday. It also happened to be Father’s Day, and you, my dear, decided to make a grand entrance into this world around Noon in a small town in Tennessee. Needless to say, you made a fine Father’s Day present! You were a big baby, as “big” is defined in medical terms: 9 lbs. 3 oz. and were 19 inches long!

You came out smiling, they tell me, and I believe it, my love. You were always a smiling baby, and have smiled your way through most of your life, except for the last year or so… I wonder if your having started middle school last year might have had anything to do with the scowl that frequently replaces the smile of late.

But present-day scowls notwithstanding, your smile has always been the kind that lights up a room, and that in itself is reason enough for me to discount the near-death experience that I had in bringing you into this world!

As frightening and near-fatal as all that was, it paled in comparison to the incredible joy of seeing you for the first time. When I first found out that you were on your way, I thought that you might be a little boy, you see, which is how you got your name (its male counterpart is Samir).

Growing up, there was an adorable five-year old boy by that name that I would occasionally baby-sit, and those memories were part of the reason for choosing your name. I also knew of course, that it had a very pretty meaning: gentle breeze.

Today, it seems as though you are a gentle breeze and a tempestuous storm all rolled into one! Although you’ve now outgrown your adamant obsession for wearing only overalls (replaced only by your obsession for Aeropostle and Hollister T-shirts), and aren’t quite so enamored with Rabbi, Tigger’s friend (replaced only with your impossibly big stuffed dog Georgie: yeah, there he is on the bed!), and even though you don’t play house anymore with your Barbie dolls (replaced a few years ago with the American Girl doll), and you obviously don’t care for the “dudhu” bottle anymore (replaced now with the strictly regulated two cans of pop per day)– you are like a lovely mysterious flower that gets more beautiful with each petal that unfolds.

You’ve been a star student in school all along, shining even as a 5 year-old with an absolutely positive self-image as rendered in your drawing (yes, it was worthy of being framed!); you show a passion for the things you want to do: swimming, rollerblading, running track, playing the piano, playing the flute, being glued to your iPod, writing that occasional haiku, participating in Girl Scouts and the Youth Group at church, and baking those sinfully delicious brownies!

And about all those other things that I yell at you for, well, what can I say except that as justified as I am for the yelling, all your other good stuff far outweighs your bad, my dear!

So for today, I’ll turn a blind eye on that messy room of yours; and I’ll bite my tongue if you’re not wearing any earrings again; and I’ll repeat myself for the fourth time when you claim you didn’t hear me the first time around (its okay, you don’t need to take out those earphones); and I won’t ask you to take your bangs out of your eyes even if it means that I’ll be seeing only one-half of your pretty face.

Thank you for being mine.

And, Happy Birthday!

Love,

Mommy