Four

A sweet little girl turned four today.


I have a feeling she is the most loved girl in the world.

She is completely adored by all of her brothers. And her father. But especially her mother.

When I was the mother of four boys, my mother tried to tell me that I needed a girl. "I know," I'd say. And then she'd repeat it. "I know," I'd say again. I didn't really know how much I needed a girl until Spenser came along. Oh. My. Goodness. There are no words to describe it. I needed a girl. I needed a girl.

She is the balance to these five boys. She is the most girly-girl in all of the world, but she can wrestle and karate chop and jump on the trampoline like no other.

Before she was born, I expected to bring home a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby girl (resembling her older brothers). In the days leading up to her birth, I would stare down at the pink crib sheet, in her pink room, and envision a blondie girl. I couldn't have been more surprised when she had brown hair and olive skin (and a little brown hair, or "fur" as I'd call it, on her lower back). We couldn't tell the color of her eyes right away, but we could tell that they were different from the moment we looked into them. And we fell in love.

To this day, I walk into her room at night and stare down into her bed with wonder and amazement at her brown hair, although it's more golden now than brown. She is a surprise every single day.

She was born on Election Day. Joe and I stopped to vote on our way to the hospital. We were some of the first ones to vote that morning. In a hurry to the hospital. (She had to be evicted from me because she was quite late and the Army was expecting Joe to return to work the following Monday.)

I found this poem a few months ago, and it hangs on my refrigerator. It reminds me of my awesome responsibility to raise a daughter. (Or sons.)

A careful woman I ought to be
A little girl follows me;
I do not dare to go astray
For fear she'll go the self-same way.

I cannot once escape her eyes;
What're she sees me do, she tries
Like me, she says, she's going to be,
The little girl who follows me.

She thinks that I am good and fine,
Believes in every word of mine;
The base in me she must not see,
The little girl who follows me.

I must remember as I go,
Through summer's sun and winter's snow,
I am building for the years to be,
For a little girl follows me.

~Author Unknown~

Happy birthday, to my favorite girl in the world. Spenser, I love you more today. Tomorrow. To-later. And to-now. ("To-later" and "to-now" are her words.)