An Ode to My Magical Unicorn Daughter

Gah. I don't want to write a cheesy post about my amazing daughter and all the things she is and all the things I hope for her and all the things...I just threw up on myself. But I also kind of do. I want to take this singular moment in time and say some things about her/to her.

First, she's magical. From her little elven fairy-like delicateness to the fact that she exists on this earth at all: sh is PURE MAGIC. She is nothing like I pictured even though I took pains not to try to foresee the baby growing in me for fear of not being surprised. Well, forget that. When my little sprout emerged with dark black hair and was one of the tiniest creatures I'd ever seen with soft hair covering her back and shoulders and her little drunken sailor wink, I was surprised. She was nothing like the blond bald thing I was in my first three years. This was the first sign of her independence from me and of her fierceness. It is in the darkness of her eyes that you can see her fierceness, the way it burns within her in a way that indicates that she will never be contained. Never forced or persuaded. As my midwife said during her first few days of life, she knows what she wants, there is no question about that. And still. Almost two years later, she is strong-minded and independent. Beautiful and strong. She is a tiny warrior. And she's mine.

She exists as a unicorn, insofar as she is singular, and rainbows crown her head as she smiles at her own delightful sense of humour. Light fills her eyes when she blames her toots on everyone is the room, one by one, growing bolder in her certainty as she moves from the cats, to her parents, to herself. She is mischievous. She is hilarious. She is mine.

She loves outside and it calms her now just as it did when she was an inconsolable infant. Birds fascinate her and she wants to pick up and turn over every leaf. She jumps in puddles and fears nothing. She cringes slightly if a dog that is too big tries to lick her face, but then pats it and points out it's tail, like it's the very first one she's ever seen. She's creative and playful and loves quirky cartoons. She is generous and kind and sits with the other kids at daycare when they have their timeouts. She had her favourites and is loyal and loving. She is astonishing. This child that I could never have dreamed of, never have hoped for, is mine.   

She doesn't tire of exploring, she never balks at a challenge. Yes, she throws things that don't work and tosses herself directly onto the floor in a kind of dive-bomb manner when things overwhelm her. Yet she falls and gets up, bumps and bruises her tiny little limbs, and perseveres. I say she is tough as nails. Because she is. She's is astonishing in both her strength and her beauty. I am astonished that she's mine.

Truth be told, Aya will one day tell me that she belongs to no one, even me, because the strength of her character is the one thing that you cannot miss about her. She is truly unique. She is the magical unicorn daughter that I was given, I can only guess, because I have lived life well in my past lives, and it was decided that I deserved a miracle, a blessing, the honour of being her mother.

We named her Aya because it means so many things in many different languages from bird, to miracle, to the word of God. While I am not able to capture all that she means to mean in words, I do know that her short name and tiny stature fill the world of heart in ways that are inexplicable.

She will forever be my magic. My mystery.

And all that I could never have imagined or dreamed of.