Dear Pony Girl,

It has taken me a long time to write this post. I have had it in my head and heart but have been unable to get the words out and down until, hopefully now. It’s interesting when the muse will strike. Right now it is early morning, and I have just finished packing your lunch for school and as soon as I zipped it closed, I knew I had to write. Yesterday I was peeing in a public toilet at a cafe when I almost ran out of the stall with my jeans unbuttoned because a poem was flying out of my head , and I knew if I didn’t get it down, it would be gone forever. That poem was about being a Wild Woman. You can read it when you are older and wondering about the Wild Woman inside of you. I assure you, she is there. I see her when you dance. There is a fierceness in your eyes and body. A feral sense that anything can happen.

I love watching you dance, by the way. It is one of my greatest pleasures. You ask me to watch a “show”, and we move the coffee table out of the way, giving you plenty of space, which you need. Your moves rival any choreographer I have ever seen on “So You Think You Can Dance.” You have talent, my dear, you certainly do. What you do with it, we shall see.

Your Dad and I separated about six weeks ago. He moved into an apartment with a pool downtown, and you, and I moved right next door to our old house. The house you learned to crawl, walk and run in. It is bittersweet, being next door. I feel immensely grateful for our adorable two bedroom cottage though. It is perfect for you and me. It’s our little den of love. The energy is soft, spacious, and feminine. It feels like we are on permanent vacation living there. The couple that moved into our old place is lovely. Both are writers, and she is also training to be an apothecary. Gregory and Emily. The sweetest couple in the world. The other day we took them on a long hike through Mount Washington, and while we showed them the hidden trails, Emily taught us about the different flora surrounding us. She made you a special tea and syrup for your cough made out of plants lovingly cultivated herself. I feel blessed to have them as neighbors.

You love your Dad’s pool. Without a doubt, most likely one of the highlights of this whole experience for you. I am happy about that. I want you to love your Dad’s house. I think it is important.

I guess I should take a moment to explain the separation a little bit- the only way I can describe it that makes any sense to me these days is to say that I know for a fact, in my heart and soul, that your father and I were meant to come together to bring you into the world and then to move on. We were never meant to be partners for life. And although there is a lot of love there between us, we were made to love and be loved by someone other than each other. And most importantly, we will always love you the most. We are both irrationally crazy about you, and that will never change. I promise. But I suspect you already know that. You are an incredibly bright little girl. So articulate, sensitive, compassionate, and kind. You intuitively know things I find I never needed to explain.

There have been times that you have seen me cry. I am grateful for this because it has given me a rare opportunity to model for you what it looks like to experience real grief and to pull myself out of it. We talk about being in you “zone” and the tools we can use to get back in when we get out. For me, as you know, it is to think of the freckle on your butt, the sound of your breath in my ear when I am putting pants on you, the warmth that spreads across my chest when I know you have finally fallen asleep next to me, and the sound of your laughter. I also can use the memory of hard belly laughs I have with Jolie, one of my best friends. Those things pull me back into my zone where I feel calm cool and collected. Your current grounding tool is to say, Boo Boo Butt. Yes. Boo Boo Butt. For some reason, that pulls you back every time.

Although there are some incredibly challenging aspects of this transition, there are also some profoundly uplifting and beautiful things. Like co-sleeping! However, funny story, I thought you wanted to sleep in my bed every night because you wanted to be close to me. It turns out that you would prefer me to sleep in your bed while you took over mine. But I am still holding onto my co-sleeping dream.I know this is the way it is meant to be and I am not fighting it anymore. I have ceased fighting anyone or anything. My new mantra- and subsequently most likely my next tattoo- is LET IT GO. Just let it go. Move on.

I know this is the way it is meant to be, and I am not fighting it anymore. I have ceased fighting anyone or anything. My new mantra- and subsequently most likely my next tattoo- is LET IT GO. Just let it go. Move on.

We are moving on, together, you and me and your Dad. We will always be a family. Just a different kind of one than we were before.

I am crazy about you.

You are loved beyond your ability to comprehend.

Love,

Mom