Five Years In

Kimani turned five years old in June. I measure my life in milestones like that. Another chunk completed, wrapped up, tied off with a birthday ribbon.



She has changed, noticeably, with this birthday. The baby Kimani, the toddler Kimani... is gone.

She has never had a haircut. As I brush it, I imagine that some of the soft golden hair on her head belongs to my infant girl.

She can say pretzel, no, out, help, yes, done, drink, bath, yogurt, and my personal favorite, mama. She can repeat several other words such as sauce (for applesauce), banana, puff, pop, more, down, cookie, cake, berry, and cheese.


(Prompting herself to say "cake”")

She will refuse a single pretzel and throw it back at you. She must have three. And Lord help you if you try to give her a broken one.

She loves to sit on the piano and will play it with her feet.



She has never been back in the hospital since being discharged at 4 months old.

She likes to chew on sticks, pinecones, dirt, and stones... and pretty much everything else she is not supposed to put in her mouth.



She hates to wear shoes and will take them off as fast as you can put them on her.

She watches Masha. She wants to be like Masha. She will pull me over to the swing that Masha uses. She touches the seat, tries to climb onto it. I help, she screams. We do this everyday until one day she lets it be put under her butt and with her feet still on the ground she wiggles back and forth, and then she yells no no no and stops. The next day we are back to just touching the swing. But she doesn’t give up the idea, and that is what counts.

She can see better than she used to, and the CVI hardly seems to affect her now.


(Don’t be fooled by how sweetly she is eating her cake... I have a camera that is faster than her throwing arm.)

She has superpowers and uses them for evil. No joke. She can spot a Starbucks’ logo from across the room and grab/throw/spill that latte without ever leaving the top of the piano. She can remove her shirt in less than 1.63 seconds while strapped in a highchair. She can escape shoes that are tightly buckled using the first notch without anyone seeing her do it. She can hit anyone seated anywhere at our huge dinner table with a mouthful of food that she has decided she doesn’t want to swallow.



She loves to watch the screen when I play Bejeweled or Candy Crush and will tell me to play more if I stop.

She is the biggest thing in my world. She challenges me to think on different levels. She makes me sad, gives me hope, scares the crap out of me, frustrates me, makes me ache with love, and drives me to do.