|How many posts can start with a picture of cake? This one tasted like a Magnolia cupcake. Bad news.|
Four years ago you came into our world and rocked it to it’s very core.We thought we knew parenting. We thought we were good at babies. Then you came to teach us differently. You cried for what seemed like two solid years. You never slept. You rarely separated from me. I wore you like an accessory. Your father doubted his ability to raise you for a while.You were sickly. You needed surgeries and ER treatments and you were just so very different. I cried a lot at my seeming inability to take proper care of you. All the while, often in spite of ourselves, we marveled at who you were. You were just so very different.
Today, you continue to challenge us in ways we never thought possible. You are wicked smart. You have personality to spare. You are more sure of yourself than any one person I’ve ever met-young or old.
I still marvel at you every single day.
I was my mom’s baby and she used to tell me I kept her young and made her old before her time-depending on the day. Man, do I understand her more than ever now.
You are my baby, always will be even when you have babies of your own. Some days are bad and I lose my temper more than I care too. It’s hard when you’re bested by a pint size human. I’m sorry for my weakness.
On good days, and they’re mostly good, you remind me to stop and enjoy exactly where I am. Kids are supposed to do that, make us appreciate the every day, but they can’t always do it. What with the racing and running and scheduling and cleaning, it’s hard to slow down and appreciate anything.
But you? You grab our cheeks and make us pay attention. You scold us if we’re not listening. You remind us what’s really important: you and your siblings and all that you do; the joy that you bring and the peace that follows.
Four years ago you came into our world and rocked it to it’s very core. We spin on the axis differently now.
Even if sometimes it’s through gritted teeth, I Thank God for that every single day.
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