Twelve years ago, we got a Christmas surprise. My middle child decided to make her appearance into the world exactly four weeks before her due date, which just so happened to be on Christmas Eve. After a few days in the NICU and a nasty bout with jaundice, she was able to come home.
This kid has always marched to the beat of her own drum. She loves to laugh and dance and sing. The child can’t walk; she runs everywhere. Always has. She lives life out loud, that is for sure.
I can’t express how surreal it is to watch my little girl grow into a young lady.
Lately she’s traded in her dolls for mascara and lipgloss, her violin for vocal lessons, and her rollerblades for a RipStik. She spends more time straightening her hair than playing with Barbies, but she’s still a little girl in so many ways. She scoffs at the legend of Santa Claus but fancies herself a mermaid.
It’s hard to believe this woman-child was once the baby with tousled curls that I would bounce to sleep at naptime while singing all six verses of Amazing Grace over and over again until she finally gave herself over to dreamland.
I cannot wait to see the woman she becomes.
Happy birthday, C!