Blog On The Motorway

Once upon a time I toyed with the idea of starting a regular thing called Letters To Rosie. If you look you will see there have been a couple of others, but I thought I would revive it for a special occasion.

Dear Rosie.

This past weekend, a very significant thing happened. You turned three years old. It seems strange to think that three years ago I was sat in a hospital room in the midlands, holding a tiny little bundle of wrinkled skin and big beautiful blue eyes, and now I have this wonderful little girl, so capricious, so full of joy (and snot, so much snot, how do you fit it all in?) and I get to watch as every day you are beginning to become a real individual person. Your language is becoming more and more formed, and the inquisitive mind that you are already displaying fills me with so much pride and joy. And then there’s that smile. That smile, which can level me immediately, no matter how cheeky the behaviour is that leads to it.

In fact, if your current behaviour is any indication of your future personality, then there is a lot there that leads me to be encouraged. You are, as I mentioned, inquisitive, with an ability to use reason that leads me to believe you’re going to be very smart. But you are also independent. The other day we took you to look around a new nursery, and without hesitation you went straight over to a group of kids you’ve never seen before and said hello, and started playing. That kind of bravery and independence is something I hope you hang on to, because no matter how much harder social interaction gets as you grow, if you can hold on to that thing where you can walk into any room and make people feel at ease, you will do well in life. It’s the sunnyness of your disposition that does it, and it’s something very special.

All of this individualism, however, could easily be brattish spoilt arrogance in a lot of kids, but you wear it very well, and that is because it’s very clear that you are very sweet child. Whenever you hear hurt you show concern, and when you see trouble you try and fix it. When I was ill a little while back (only a cold, I hasten to add) you asked every day for weeks afterwards if I was still poorly, with genuine concern, and your manners are already very good. All I can say at the moment is that every day I see a new piece of your personality fitting into place, and so far I couldn’t be more pleased with the young lady you are becoming. I can’t wait to meet the woman you will one day become because I can already tell that she’s going to be every bit as kind, smart and capable as your mother, and there’s not really any higher praise that I can give you than that.

My job, and that of your Mum as well, is to help you become this wonderful person we see the potential for you to be, to help that inquisitive mind stay hungry for knowledge, to encourage those better parts of your nature. It’s not always an easy job, but we’ve got better raw material than most parents. So here’s to you, Rosie, on the occasion of your third birthday. May you always retain a shred of the wonderful, beautiful, happy little girl that you are today.

Dad.