Last week, Girlie turned three. I feel like it was just yesterday that I was walking around the hospital joking about her being born, without even knowing she was Girlie. My heart. I wrote this in the wee hours of the morning.
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Oh Girlie. Three years. What happened?
I’ll tell you what happened:
You were born. You cried, a lot. You made me into a tougher mother. You made me question the very Mothering principles I had been adamant about. You slept amazingly, and I adored you for it. You started talking, oh, how you started talking. You smiled, a lot. You took your first steps, but only after you’d realize it was faster to trail your brother around on feet, not in bum-scoot mode.
You worried us because you weren’t growing. We had a lot of appointments for you. I held you when you had your first blood draw, and I cried with you because, it was awful. You continued to breastfeed even when we were told to stop. You weaned on your own terms, and still lovingly pat my breasts every so often calling them “my bab”. We traveled miles for you to see specialists, to figure out why you wouldn’t grow. I lost a lot of sleep. I felt guilty, and you kept on smiling. Talking, laughing, and being a complete goof.
You developed an attitude. Not in a bad way. You’ve always had it, I suppose. Now you put your hands on your hips, shake your head and tell the person what you need them to hear. I like that you are so sure of yourself and confident, even when it makes me twitch a bit at the end of the day. You made everyone fall in love with you. I blame the eyes, and the bewitching smile.
You still adore your brother. I hope this never stops. I hope he always wants to help you, to protect you, and to hang out with you. Even if he’s bossy sometimes (so are you). You love to tell stories, and to snuggle but only on your terms. You trust everyone and just want to laugh, play, and tell jokes all day. Just like your Daddy.
You love cats. The dogs. You love owls, and Angry Birds, Star Wars, Spiderman, and Hello Kitty. You like Merida from Brave, which is okay with me. You love to read alone, and with me. You can tell people how old you are on your fingers, and that you wanted a Spiderman cake for your birthday. You pronounce your name in such a ridiculously cute way that I don’t even mind correcting the strangers you talk to. You say your brother’s name in such a way that we’ve all started calling him by it too. Your enthusiasm is contagious.
I have many hopes and dreams for you. I’ve said it before, but the world needs more women that have the strength and tenacity that you do. They need a confident girl who isn’t afraid of who she is, and what she wants. And you are that, even at three. It took me almost twenty five years to find that girl in myself, and I’m so glad that I’ll be able to nurture that part of you, as you grow.
For now, I’ll just try to enjoy you as you are, the tiny little Girlie that you still are, and remember that three isn’t that big. Happy Birthday, Girlie.