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My Baby’s Birthday

Little Girl turns three this week. It’s so cliche to ask, but how did that happen? It seems like only yesterday that I was walking the halls of the maternity wing, willing her to move down and out into the world, and now she’s old enough to talk and sing and laugh.

She’s even become what she calls Mama’s helper. Tonight, for example, we made banana muffins. Everyone got a turn stirring the batter. She and her sister greased up their own mini muffin pans. Once I poured the batter they took their time carefully placing chocolate chips on half the batch. At one point I stopped and watched them performing those simple tasks. I felt so full and happy seeing their little earnest faces, I thought my heart would burst.

Oh, Little Girl isn’t all fun and games. I know that. If you’re a regular reader, you know that. (See evidence here, here, and here.) She gives me plenty of gray hairs and, to quote my Italian grandmother, more than my share of agita, but even with the anguish and worry she is still my little shining star. My ray of midday sunshine in what I feel is sometimes a very gloomy world. (Yes, Big Girl is, too. Although I’d probably equate her personality and love to a beautiful sunrise: colorful and cool, with hints of warmth shining through.)

Happy birthday, Little Girl. You were my best surprise ever. Hope the muffins are as delicious as you are!

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