Turning seven years old

ESME

My darling girl, you are seven.

New words in your vocabulary to reflect this exciting step are: Awesome & cool. And my particular favourite: Seriously. And your particular favourite: Bottom (yes, still). Not forgetting the phrase: I don't just like it, I love it.

You get a kick out of making up rhymes, and you enjoy reading and writing. Indeed, this last year you have become quite studious. Your dad refers to you as his bookworm. 

The first half of the year you repeatedly looked in the mirror, before finally declaring that your glasses made you look rubbish. Thankfully the second half of the year, you settled into a pair. They glow in the dark. We are both getting better at remembering to take them to school.

You now take an interest in how your hair looks, putting it up yourself. You asked and asked to have it cut, we did last week, and you love your new look. So do I.

You don’t like tickling, you never have. You don’t like surprises. You don't like films. You beg us not to take you to the cinema. You are afraid of stuff. I get it. I was too. 

You sleep well, but bad dreams sometimes reflect the things you do not understand. 
You are yet little my love. 
Especially for one so eager to be a teenager. 
However, your ability to accept things is undeniably grown up.

A set back came in January when you threw a severe reaction to peanuts. You are allergic, and now carry an epi pen. At first this hugely bothered you, because of the thought that you may need to have an injection. You worried about the needle, and then you worried that we may forget the needle and something much worse might happen. One morning, you had a panic attack at school because you felt your throat was swelling. (In hindsight, I think you probably had a sore throat that day, and your glands were up).

Time passed and after making a sign to remind us all that we should never forget to take your epi pens out with us, you eased into the thought, that this is how it is for you. You never once got upset that you were not allowed to eat the ice cream or the chocolate that the other children were being given.

Esme, you have shown me again and again that children are fabulous at adapting, and that every hurdle will eventually be jumped with ease.

You went through a stage of clicking fingers. You did not stop clicking fingers for what seemed like forever. Indeed you're more into music now. Nanny and Grandad got you a CD player for your birthday. (Katy Perry is a hit ever since your school sports day warm up dance). On that note... you dance to the best of your ability. It doesn't come naturally, but oh how you try. 

What you don't need to try at is humour. You love a joke; get the joke; make a joke. After your birthday party, I commented on the fact that I never expected our homemade piniata to be such a hit. You roared... Such a hit, get it Mummy?

And how you love a game. The first one in at the deep end. Your enthusiasm for fun is infectious.

Oh my beautiful funny little girl, of course there is attitude. Everything has to be done a certain way. (It's usually your way). This year for the first time ever you said you hated me. I ignored it. You were maddened - yelling at me: Did you hear what I said? You went to school feeling terrible and you haven't said it since.

You flit between hate and love when it comes to Fia. Your little sister is at times your soul mate and at times your nemesis. I don't blame you for that. There have been bite wounds, pinch marks, kick bruises and all sorts to put up with, and on the whole, you have put up with. Tolerant to a point, I'm now realising that point is reached sooner than ever before. 

Year 2 came and went, and school was neither outstandingly exciting or dull as far as you were concerned. Socially, you have struggled on occasion. That's normal at this age sweetie.

Perhaps not so normal, is to take the idea of an imaginary friend one step further...

...Freya was with us for a while.

She's made of tough stuff Freya. (Cardboard). 
A cut out friend in your own likeness.

You came home from school one day and told me that at playtime, girls were running away from you. You whispered that you often stood at the friendship stop, but no one ever came. 

You asked for a large piece of card. I gave you a cereal packet. (One with extra % thrown in making it a jumbo box). You stared at the floor. It was nowhere near big enough.

A few days on, a large delivery arrived. For once uninterested in its contents, you jumped on the empty skin, laying down, demanding, commanding, I draw around you. 

Happy in your art, and busy in your game, you coloured clothes on Freya. You gave her a tee with a love heart on the front. Inside that love heart, you wrote the words: ‘I'll play with you’.

And she did. 
She followed you around.

She sat with us for a while at the table.

Together you dressed up.

She's thrown beside your cupboard now. 
Not quite thrown away. 
But you have let her go this Summer.

A confident new you appeared this holiday. 

A beach babe; you spent more time in the sea than out.

You are fit and you are strong. Gymnastics (which you have embraced) has paid dividends. 

And then there is that beautiful nature of yours my girl. Your kind hearted soul and generous being overwhelms me most of the time. 

Take for example, this birthday. It was so many months ago that you asked if you could make your birthday invitations. Of course you did - you still love art - and I was astounded at the result. (For the record, I had absolutely nothing to do with it).

You wrote that instead of a gift, you would like the children to bring a donation for the WWF. I tried to talk you out of it, but you were (as only you can be) adamant. 

On the morning you turned seven, we expected 10 children to arrive without a wrapped gift in sight. 
I asked if you were prepared for that. 
Yes. You said squarely. 
And how does that make you feel? 
It's fine Mummy. I want to look after animals.

I don't know many children at age six that would think like this, let alone follow through with this Esme. I am so proud of you. 

This weekend you raised £42 for the World Wildlife Fund. 
And you raised the bar on how much love I feel for you. Again.

Esme Grace August 2015