Dear Veda

You're special. You always have been.

Call me biased, or just a typical parent, but I think you're somewhat of a prodigy. Not only are you our first born, which inherently makes you special, but you're insanely smart, empathetic, curious, dramatic, emotional, aware and gorgeous. You speak in Spanish sometimes. You console me when I'm sad. You have the SAME humor as your dad, it's ridiculous. You know the difference between tv and reality and we didn't even TEACH you that. You're obsessed with 7 different tv shows, and singing, and speaking in your make believe language that sounds eerily Chinese.

You love when something is a production. You get upset when we yell at the puppies and you're starting to learn how to write your numbers.

Sometimes I wonder, how many more times will I hold your hand? You think about things like that when people you know are dying, when parents you know are losing their children. The thought is inconceivable, so I cling to the moments I have with you, sometimes so hard that my knuckles turn white.

Life with you is a constant battle between feeling frustrated by your toddler antics and then feeling bad for having such high expectations. You understand things and even when you don't we are determined to teach you. I'm sorry if I ever make you feel inadequate. You have so much to offer this world.

But someday you're gonna know that my kisses aren't magic, and they don't make all your pain go away.

Someday you won't want me to tuck you in and you'll stop saying "Good night, don't let the bed bugs bite. If they do, I'll take a shoe, and hit their butts black and blue!"

Someday you're gonna kill me for all those embarrassing pictures and videos on Instagram and Facebook.

Someday you're gonna slam your door in my face and tell me how horrible I am and that I don't understand you and that it's not fair. Just yesterday you told me I wasn't a nice mommy. Man, do I have my work cut out for me.

But most importantly, you make loving you easy. You always have. I think you always will.

Three years ago you changed my life forever. I'll never forget the moment the doctors set you on my chest. Not a cry could be heard. You looked up at me, so contently, as if to say "Hi Momma. I made it, finally. And I already know you and you already know me, but just wait because I'm going to teach you all kinds of things at the same time that you're teaching me. And I'll love you forever and ever."