Mallory turns 10 tomorrow. That sentence was written about five minutes before this one. Not because I've been called away to help her with Adobe Illustrator, discuss Sims 4 or wax her skis — some of the things we do together lately. Irene's reading her stories and putting her to bed.
It's taken me five minutes to process the idea that I've been a parent for ten years. And that my baby is now a decade old. What a long time that is.
But I don't feel tired or worn out or empty. Well, I do but it's more got to do with shovelling snow and the bike trainer workout.
No. When I think of ten years with Mallory I feel excited and energized. I feel like my life has a massive tailwind and I'm just flying along effortlessly, my feet floating on the pedals.
This child, who skis better than me, who makes her own breakfast and lunch, who plays piano (never could, myself) who cartwheels, writes plays in french along with a myriad of other things that leave me in awe of her and unspeakably proud.
This child is entering her second decade.
Happy birthday darling. I am, as I never tire of telling you, the luckiest dad in the world.