Dear K,

It's been just a few days since your third birthday as I begin penning this letter. I have written and re-written this same letter countless times—oh, how hard it is to put all these thoughts into words.

These past three years have been nothing short of eye-opening for me. Life has never quite been the same—I’ve not been the same. People often say that having children changes you, but I never would have imagined just how much your presence would shape our lives, and who I am becoming as your Papa.

Writing this letter—I don’t know how much you will ever read, or what about it you’ll understand. Then again, I’m not too sure what made me sit down and write. Perhaps it was your third birthday that made me start writing. Or perhaps it was something that happened just a few nights ago—this "something" that has reminded me, all over again, how strange and wonderful this seemingly ordinary journey of being your Papa has been.

There is so much I want to tell you. So much I hope you will always know.

Sweetheart, you are our joy simply because. Period. There’s no reason other than who you are.

Nothing about you is a mistake.

Your little fingers and little toes, your beautiful eyes, your wonderful personality—all lovingly formed and moulded. Every little part of you, personally shaped by our Papa God. Even when well-meaning others questioned the life that lay ahead of you—some advising us to make decisions we could never bring ourselves to even consider—we knew, with God’s tender grace, that your life was never a mistake.

Others may see your disability as a problem, or perhaps find it pitiful that we—as a family—have such a weirdly familiar relationship with hospitals. Yes, life has certainly been very different from what Mama and Papa once imagined. There have been difficult days. Days filled with questions, uncertainties, anxieties—even decisions we never imagined having to make.

Regardless, none of this make you any less. Do you know you are made in the very image of God? Whatever life brings us, it doesn’t make you any less beautiful—not any less worthy. Certainly not because of anything you or I have ever done, but because of who Papa God is, and what He has done for us.

Your love for music re-ignites my own. You have the superpower of enjoying the same piece of music over and over again. You dance with such contagious spirit and joy, and I love how you know so many songs and their actions by heart. You somehow have a specific “sign” for every song you like—and would tap us gently on the shoulder to ask for us to sing and dance with you. Recently, when we introduce new songs to you, you would follow our dance actions so well—and to our delight, even add your own little cute actions and twists. You love it when we laugh along with you.

You’ve lately found a fascination for shadows especially after we introduced you to Bear in the Big Blue House. You would stare at the floor as you walked, just to see your shadow appear and disappear behind you. And when I ask you to look up to walk, you would literally look up at the ceiling lights—bursting out in laughter. Even though you find it difficult to balance with one hand on the Kaye Walker alone, you would somehow find a way to balance yourself just so you can wave at your shadow. You laugh with such glee when we respond “Yeeees… it’s your shadow!” And when we sing “Oh where, oh where is Shadow?”, you would walk with the cutest head sway as you search for your shadow.

How enamoured you have been with your reflections, too, is something I find so hilarious. You spot your reflection in the weirdest places—the back of a metal spoon, a chrome handle in a car, a bus window. Waving enthusiastically at yourself, you would somehow find so much joy seeing your reflection waving back. Somehow, your favourite item in your expansive doll “mansion” is the teeniest tiniest bathroom mirror—well, because you like peering into it to find your reflection.

My prayer is that you will continue to enjoy how God has made you—different, yes. Beautiful, too.

Routine is something you take a lot of comfort in. You astonish me with how precise your bedtime routine must be, every single day—drink milk, bathe, brush teeth, change, pray, wave bye, read books with Baymax, pray, off lights, sleep. You would relentlessly request for prayers when I forget to pray certain things—like when I miss out on naming the fruit of the Spirit one by one. You know exactly when it’s time to drink milk, and when the time comes, you would already be telling Papa it’s time for milk. I cannot imagine what would happen when you actually know how to read time!

Recently, you have been babbling and signing (speaking!) a lot more than usual, waving your arms frantically and speaking at the top of your lungs—as if you are trying to share with us some of the most amazing stories from your day. Your pretend play has also gotten a lot more elaborate as you walk your dolls up steps and speak to them. You have even begun getting Baymax to pray, putting his hands together as we pray together—something I did not teach you to do. Slowly but surely, we see more and more of your personality growing and developing.

Every little facet about you makes us love you more and more: How you squint your big beautiful eyes into thin slits when you smile, ”mocking” Mama and Papa’s non-existent eyes; how you love to “cheers” with Mama and Papa, and simply will not drink water without us drinking alongside you; how you obsess over string-like items like noodles and eating your own hair—our sneaking suspicion being that the sensations remind you of your old “best friend,” NGT; how you pose for a photograph whenever you spot someone using their phone…

There are so many little things about you that I wish I could capture and keep forever.

On Watching You Grow

For three whole years, Mama and Papa have held you to sleep.

Night after night, soothing you to sleep has been a daily routine for us—holding you whilst we bounced on our big blue gym ball, listening to that same lullaby playlist for the umpteenth time. Hugging and holding you as you slowly drift to sleep is something I have come to truly enjoy.

Of course, with time, I must admit that I have found it harder to hold and carry you. Partially because you’ve grown really heavy, but more so because I wished you would find your independence a little earlier. As much as we have wanted to have you sleep independently, we have found it near impossible simply because when you cry too much, or move too much, you vomit due to your NGT.

We had been quite certain that you would have to rely on us to sleep for years to come.

There were moments—oh, how I wish I could forget them—where I would feel so annoyed when settling you down for the night. On those nights, I would have to repeatedly remind myself to treasure these moments, knowing that there would come a day when you would not need Papa to hold you to sleep.

Somehow, that day has passed us by.

Ordinary as it may seem, looking at you through our grainy black-and-white baby monitor—playing with your Baymax soft toy as you place him to sleep beside you—just makes my heart burst with joy. Mama and Papa find it so funny that you would chew your hair as you babble yourself, kicking your bolster and pillows around as you finally settle into the most uncomfortable-looking position to sleep. I cannot help but feel this immense wonder seeing you do something for yourself. This “something” that—not too long ago—I thought would be impossible without us.

There's also some sadness. A sadness I never quite expected to feel—especially when this was something I had been wishing for. I suppose this is one of the stranger things about being a parent. We spend so much time hoping our kids will grow, only to find ourselves yearning—when they finally do—that time would just slow down. Just a little.

On Intervening and Letting Go

Raising a young girl with disabilities has been a balancing act of “intervening” and “letting go.”

Medical interventions alone bring to mind a plethora of stories—introducing a nasogastric tube (NGT), the constant recalibrating of your diet, timing your various cleft surgeries, experimenting with a range of physiotherapy equipment… There are simply too many to list. In daily life, too, we parents try—with whatever strength and energy left—to ensure your every moment is developmentally enriching—aka many other opportunities for “intervention.”

A repeated pattern in our story is how often we have needed to advocate for your interventions. I am penning this section down as I am literally just coming off another IEP meeting, with intervention goals I nitpick at—yes—but often find it necessary to do so (sorry, teachers.) Looking back, I simply can’t imagine the countless times your life trajectory could have been drastically different if we did not ask, discuss, and even challenge the various professionals who have somehow become part of your life. Perhaps, I am really the quintessential kiasu parent... who's to say? As a young child living with multiple disabilities, you have been on the receiving end of so many things "done to" you. Exercises you scream at. Activities to encourage you to communicate. Equipment—expensive ones, mind you—to support your mobility. Appointments, assessments, therapies, consultations, on and on and on they go.

Much of this has probably been necessary. Some have made a difference, and for that I am grateful.

Yet, however needful interventions may be, I am beginning to learn that knowing when to step aside can be just as important as knowing when to step in.

Perhaps, as a parent, that is also the hardest part. We spend years and months taking care of you—planning and watching over every minutiae of your life. Planning, arranging, practising, modelling, intervening… Oh, how difficult it is to recognise that there come moments where we must step aside and allow you to discover what you are capable of doing yourself. There have been so many points in time where Mama and Papa have had to take that leap of faith and trust that you would grow—as we let go.

No matter how many words we mimic and model for you, we ultimately need to give you the time and opportunities to respond.

No matter how much we hold and support you as you learn to walk, we ultimately need to find the courage to loosen our grip, so that you may find the courage to take your first steps forward.

One particularly significant moment in your life was when we had to wean you off your NGT. I remember this so clearly—how we kept stressing over when might be the optimum time for you to stop relying on it altogether. Would you be able to eat enough? Would you cope without it? Were we making the right decision at the right time? Even with the careful planning that went into that decision, taking that last step required us to trust that you were ready. How amazing—oh, how amazed we were—to see you adapt and grow once we finally took that step.

What I have truly enjoyed most these past three years are the moments you do things that we clearly did not teach you to do. Like how you began praying with your toys, or how you invent your own little dance actions to songs. These are such little things, yet they never fail to astonish us. They are a reminder that you’re not simply the sum of everything we have taught you, nor merely the “outcome” of all the interventions ever “done” to you. Thank God that there’s so much more to discover about you—and so much more that you will get to discover for yourself!

K, Papa’s prayer for you is that you will grow up confident in who you are in Christ, care deeply for those around you, and find friends and family that treasure you deeply. I pray that you will always know how wonderfully and lovingly you have been made, and that you will never feel the need to prove your worth through what you can or cannot do.

I pray, too, that Mama and Papa will continue learning when to hold your hand, when to loosen our grip, and when to simply stand beside you as you discover the life God has given you to live.

The future holds many uncertainties—many possibilities too. There are many things we hope for, pray for, sometimes worry about. Whatever they may be, my prayer is that you will always know, deep in your heart, that you’re loved. By God, by Mama, by Papa, and by so many many others whose lives have become richer simply because you’ve been a part of them.

Happy third birthday, sweetheart.

You are our joy simply because.

Love, Papa