13 November 2017. 1:32 PM. 'Six'

Look at that, doll.
Exactly 3 years and 7 months since I wrote to you last.

A lot has happened since then. You've made some friends. You've lost some. You've grown out of day care. You've lost a few teeth. You've started using complex words. You've started saying things like OMG. Wonder where you pick up these things from. You've started experimenting with lipstick, nail paints and other girly things.

Ma and me have gotten divorced.

And while things aren't the best, they're still much, much better than what other families who are still together have. And for that, I have your mom and you to thank.

We still go cycling. We used to go skating, but then you decided not to do that anymore. Which is cool. You should have total control over the things you want to do, and the things you don't. We still find time to monkey around. And dance around in my living room. And go out for dinners. And make lunches at home. And cuddle up and sleep after. And play hide and seek. (I hide behind the shower curtain by the way - now you know.)

Life isn't the best, little Mimi-poodle. But it isn't sucky either.

You turned six on the 10th. And while many say 'oh wow, look how you've grown', I don't think you had an option really. You had to. You had to many things that other children your age don't have to. You've had to deal with a lot these few years. And every time life threw you a googly, you knocked the ball right out of the park. Every single time.

So proud of you, munchkin.

I remember why I stopped writing. While Mimi Sleeps was started as a diary that would get written when you'd be asleep. I'd look at your closed eyes, lying next to me, and I'd write you a letter. But since I moved out, I wasn't really sure when you slept. And I did't have you beside me. So I just stopped writing altogether.

I shouldn't have.

Because while you may not be on my bed, you're very much on my mind. Every minute of the day, every waking moment.

So this is my present to you on your sixth birthday. The revival of my letters to you. To be read by you when you're grown up.

Happy birthday ass.
Love you

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