And now she is six

I write this yearly and yearly I struggle to explain and express how it is that my girl makes me feel.

I find myself grasping at metaphors.

She is a butterfly, she flies free and flits about merrily.
She is the breeze that cools your summer heat.
She is the sunlight that warms the ground in the winter.

They are all inadequate.

I could try to describe her laugh, not the fake girly laugh that she thinks is proper for a girl to have, but her real laugh, the one that is deep and can be felt if you hold her to you while she does it.
I could try to explain what her eyes are like. The depth of the brown, the gold that you don't see but rather sense, the joy that shines there most of the day.
I could tell stories about her, the skipping that she does constantly, even just from room to room. The normal narcissism that has her staring at her reflection and smiling "Hi self, I love you" she says and blows kisses to her other self.

Comfort flows from her as she plays with my hair, gives me a hug, sits up on my lap to watch a tv show. I adore it. It makes me feel whole and content. Not just happy but content. That fantastic lassitude that settles on you after a wonderful day. She makes me feel joy. The other end of the 'happy' spectrum. Not 'hum a tune' happy, but bursting through your skin joy.

I am in constant awe that I get to raise this girl and that she's been mine for six years now. Six years. She is little, she is beautiful, I am enthralled with her. I keep waiting for her to get 'bigger' and drift from me, from us. She hasn't done so yet. Each year is a gift, a present from God. She is still my wonder, my lovely daughter who loves us fiercely and without reservation or hesitation.

She is six and today is her birthday.