I think I die a little inside as each birthday rolls around and I watch the “baby” grow up. We still call her the baby even though she isn’t. She’s wears panties now, wants to do big-girl things, goes to school. She has friends she loves and teachers that love her. She waves happily at me each morning when I drop her off at school, kissing me, telling me to have a good day as she rushes back to her squealing classmates. She used to watch me longingly as I walked away; now I’m the watcher.
She’s sassy and sweet, bossy and patient, independent and very loving. She loves her “sissies” and “bubbas” and takes roll each day, logging in each person’s whereabouts like a mother hen.
But mostly she likes to kiss and hug and snuggle. She wraps her long legs around me as soon as we say hello or good morning and she doesn’t like to get down. She cooks with me, cleans with me, puts on makeup with me, and wants me to take her everywhere I go…and I usually do. She likes to ride with me in the car and talk about her day, tattle on everyone, sing with her CD.
She mocks me when I direct her siblings, complete with hands on her hips and a stern face. She doesn’t like time-outs or a “no” of any kind. She loves her blankies, her stuffed animals, and thank goodness, her mommy. And boy, does her mommy love her back.
Happy, happy birthday my sweet baby girl.
Birthday morning. Cinnamon rolls with candles and many (many) rounds of the birthday song
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Later that morning at school. 
She loves her teacher, Ms. Carolyn SO much.
Can you tell who’s bossy?
Friends.
YAY! I’m officially three!!
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