My little one,
I see your wide eyes that soak in your surroundings, and those ears that pick up words and make them form on your little lips as though you had been studying them for months. I can see my own reflection in your stare, the depth of emotion and thought that are developing in you astound me daily.
I wonder who you will be, whose heart you will touch (and perhaps which hearts you will break). I hope that you lift and touch more hearts than you break. And I feel that you will, because you are my daughter. And you are your father's daughter. He was a heart-mender, a kind soul - and you are like him in a way. Your face as you sleep is peaceful and expressionless, your eyelashes curl up sweetly and your closed lips look as though you are keeping a delicious secret. All like your father.
But you are stubborn. You do not cease to try at something, or to pull at my leg until you've gotten what you came for, or until you've succeeded in your goal. You will knock on the door not until you become fatigued, but until it is opened for you. Be stubborn, little one. Do not cease to try to be better and do better and achieve better, even if those around you attempt to pull you down. You are my daughter. And I will not cease to try to make YOU better until I am buried in the earth.
You are us, my cherub. You have the sweet but fiery temperament of your father. His humour and mischievous eyes. You have my stubbornness. You have my love.
But you are also so different. Your soul is unique, and though I do not know who you will be or what you will do, I have faith and hope in you. Not that you will become a doctor or business owner, although you can if you want. But I have hope that you will leave the world better than you found it. This is your purpose, this is who you were meant to be, because this is who we were all meant to be.