Eleven Is Heaven…or Is It?

Today is Miriam's eleventh birthday. 

I cannot express how much I love this little goofball. Her spirit, enthusiasm and endurance motivates me to be a better person every single day.

There are times that I mourn the things she will never enjoy. Yet I celebrate the hurdles she overcomes, again and again and again. And she does this with a smile.

I wish I had her courage.





Speaking of courage, sometimes she scares me.

Shhhh. Don't tell anyone.

It's because she's a girl. A pre-teen girl. 

We endured the drama that was our son's early teenage years, but a girl? What new horrors will this bring to our household? I'd love to tell the future, yet there's a problem with prediction. 

To illustrate, enjoy this little gem:

We really can't predict a thing, can we?

Yet I do it all the time. I am obliged to, because the day I let my guard down and stop considering what the future might hold is the day when the bad stuff happens. 

I have to predict yet I cannot predict, so fate is a crouching monster waiting to pounce when my attention falters. The future is like those statues in Doctor Who that look fine when you stare at them...but when you look away they will eat you.

If you don't know this reference to how life works, don't worry. You don't want to know.

To add more fuel to this ridiculous fire, here's EXHIBIT A. 

A numerologist (defined here as a person who likes to make things up) said these pronouncements about the number eleven. You'll note the number eleven is the same number as her age:

Saint Augustine stated “the number eleven is the blazon of sin.” 

Eleven is considered a symbol of internal conflict and rebellion. 

Eleven is compared to the unbalancing of the number ten, a pillar in the universe, number eleven represented disorder.

Ten symbolized a complete cycle, by adding one; eleven was a symbol of exaggeration, extravagance and human sin. 

“The eleventh hour” suggests urgency. Because the clock runs to twelve, this is the last hour to get things done.

My daughter is eleven. She is now a pre-teen.

She likes pop music more than classical.

She giggles when she's around other girls.

She dresses better than I ever have and ever will.

I think I saw a blemish.

I'm doomed.

I rest my case.

***

Okay. Indulge me a little. 

Here are a few pictures from various stages of her life, because it's her birthday and I have the right to show her off.

Note the Dorothy Gale hairstyle…

…Which makes sense, since her ensemble includes the heart-on-his-sleeve Cowardly Lion, the calm and deeply loving Tin (Wo)Man and the happy-go-lucky Scarecrow.

Years ago, but one of my favorite pictures ever. And I mean ever.

Back when she was two, with the same smile. 

I think she was smiling when she was born, which is really weird.

Kindergarten. 

This is a picture I both love and hate - because she is there and yet she is not, included yet a mile away.

Still, she made a great piggy.

See? Now that's just cute.

Do I sound biased?

Yes I do. Because I am. Always.

Happy birthday, Sweetie MaGoo.