Happy Birthday, Little R!

Yesterday my baby turned 5. Five.

My baby.

FIVE.

It’s bittersweet, five.  My little five-year-old is a study in contrasts.  She is fiercely independent and wants nothing more than to be a teenager (hold me) but she still needs her mommy fix.  I love nothing more than when she snuggles up in my lap and nuzzles her velvety little face into my neck.  I’ll take it as long as I can get it.  She’s spunky and bright and inquisitive.  She loves Barbies and baby dolls and play-doh and all things pink.

We had a little birthday celebration for her on Saturday night with family.  The one and only thing she wanted for her birthday was a “Barbie head.”  It’s all she’s talked about for the past two weeks.  Needless to say, Mommy went to Target in search of a Barbie head and wrapped it in pretty pink paper.

It was a hit.

At her request, I made Curry Chicken Pot Pie for dinner and my tried and true chocolate cake (recipe off the back of the Hershey Cocoa box) for dessert.

A cake decorator, I am not.  Thus the generic Ariel candle on top.  No one seemed to mind.  It was moist and delicious, and that’s what counts, right?

Now, R proudly announces to everyone she sees, “I’m five!”

And this morning, she asked, “Am I five-and-a-half yet?”

Don’t push it, kid.  Mommy’s just getting used to five.

Happy birthday, precious one!