Who knew painted walls could grow?

Over five years ago, I wrote this post in celebration of Lily's nursery coming to life. In November 2013, I couldn't think beyond the next three months, couldn't imagine what it would be like to have Lily at home with us, couldn't imagine what it would be like to enter, as Brandi Carlile sings, "the end of being alone inside your mind / You're tethered to another and you're worried all the time."

But, darn, if I didn't love her nursery.

Those bubbly sea creatures, the joyful knowledge that they were conceived of and painted by someone who loves us so much, the creativity of a muraled nursery--I looked at them daily and never even asked how they might grow with this tiny person inside my belly.

And then that not-so-tiny person turned five.

For a while, we'd been promising Lily we'd flip her big-girl bed when she was five in order to give her a little loft space underneath, but I think we were hedging our bets a bit that she might forget.

Not our kid. The questions started coming fast and furious about when, precisely, we'd get around to The Change. And so we arrived at an increasingly frustrating weekend morning, researching the Best Under Loft Bed Spaces for Preschoolers of All Time Ever. Because, of course, we weren't going to fall short of The Best.

It definitely had to involve fairy lights. And some sort of elaborate treehouse construction. Likely stairs instead of a ladder. Some secret hidden door. And pink. Lots of pink.

And then we saw that octopus on our wall, and we suddenly thought, "well, of course. Under the sea."

So, maybe it's not The Best Space Ever, but Lily thinks it's pretty darn fantastic. It does involve fairy lights (and a hot glue gun and Jeff dodging blobs of hot glue), and it will eventually have curtains to make it feel a bit more of a hideaway. We quickly learned Lily wanted nothing to do with stairs--ladders are what all the Big Girls are using these days.

And it's got love.

A whole lotta love.

Just like we've got for our Big Girl.

Dear Mum: Sometimes...

Dear Mum,

Tonight, I'm watching (and listening to) Lily sleep. She fell asleep with four of her fingers wrapped around my hand, the other fist clasped tightly to her face. (She still sucks her thumb, you know, in spite of promising us, "I'll stop when I'm five!") She's absolutely, resolutely exhausted: it's her birthday weekend, and she's been enveloped in love (and presents and sweets) from not only us and you but also her extended god-family and a plethora of school friends. As I watch her sleep now, her breathing is deep (in spite of a congested nose) and her dreams (I pray) are peaceful.

Mum, how many nights did you watch me sleep like this? How many moments did you marvel at the rise and fall of my chest, at my interactions with my friends, at my trust in everything I knew and loved? How many times did you count the minutes until I was asleep, then spend the hours I was asleep recounting who I was with Dad?

She'll only be 5 for another 364 days, and she'll be a preschooler for less than that. And as much as I hope (and can't wait!) for her to be a Panther like her mom, I'm not ready for her to be in full-day school, 5 days a week; for her to relish the time with friends and be embarrassed by the moments Mom steps in, ready to drive her home (or to practice or lessons or whatever occupies her passion).

Little Lil', I used to watch the top of your head sleep. You rested on my lap, content to rock the night away in our glider. Tonight you sleep soundly, full of the love of your very best (and most wonderful--you've chosen well) friends, content that you'll see the remaining godparents in the morning to celebrate your birthday weekend.

My heart is full tonight, Mum--not just of the love I have for my daughter but also of the love you have for your daughter. Thank you for teaching me what it is to be a Mom--not only the joy of each moment but also the heartache of knowing each moment that passes will never be what it was again.

Little Lil', you are part of a legacy of moms who love their daughters, who allow them to be who they want to be even if that doesn't make perfect sense in the grander scheme of the world. I am so blessed that Ganny and Gannydaddy let me spend my days with high school students, that they believe--with all their hearts--that no calling is greater than the one that asks you to invest in children.

Mum, thank you for believing in the little girl who fell asleep with a stuffy nose and hopes of no more than jelly doughnuts on Sunday morning before church.

Lil, want to start a new tradition and get a jelly doughnut with me tomorrow?

Wth all my heart...