Thursday, December 18, 2014

Many Planks

She's five now.  I can't believe it.  I'm working on my annual letter to her, but in the meantime I had to share this cuteness I captured tonight.  She's attempting to sing the Perfect Nanny song from Mary Poppins, but as you'll see she knows about every third word.  Those sorts of things are rarely of importance to her.  It's more about the performance than the accuracy.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Baby's First Selfies

She thinks she's really cute.  We have to agree.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Hope is coming for me

Hope is a fragile thing.  One small crack in the veneer can bring it down.

Before those two beautiful pink lines appeared, we had tried to get pregnant for over a year.  I charted my cycles and was beginning to be concerned about some of my hormone levels because of some abnormalities in my cycles.  So when those little lines appeared, the very next day I called the doctor to get some labs done to be sure that my numbers were good.

They were... okay.  They wanted me to come back in to get more labs done.

I did and that afternoon I got a call from my doctor's nurse.  My progesterone level had dropped.

"Is the baby in danger?"

"Well, low progesterone can result in a miscarriage," she answered honestly.  "That's why we are putting you on a prescription supplement to try to improve your levels."

"Ok.  Thank you."

I hung up the phone and burst into tears.  All my fears came bubbling to the surface.  Fears that my body was broken and incapable of sustaining life.  Fears that what I had hoped for for so long was about to be snatched away before I even got used to saying the words "I'm pregnant" out loud.  Fears that I would have to mourn this life inside me and then gather my resolve to try again.  Fears that I wouldn't I have the courage to do that.

I clicked a link to a Youtube video of a couple telling their family and friends they were expecting.  I smiled through the whole video, but when the last second flicked by I was overcome with sobs.  I sat in my bed and my body shook with tears and grief.  I could no longer relate to that couple's celebrating.  My rejoicing had been poisoned by worry.

And just like that, my joy vanished and it was replaced by anxiety and anticipation of loss.  A loss that hung in the future as a big fat possibly.  And yet I was living as though it was a reality.  I fought it hour by hour.  I would realize that my mind had wandered down the rabbit trail of loss - imagining how I would tell people.  Imagining how I would explain it to Lila.  Anticipating the physical and emotional pain of miscarriage.  I would realize, and try to snap myself out of it.  Remind myself of the symptoms I was having, remind myself that there was no real reason to expect to lose the baby.

One day I was so overcome with worry that I took another pregnancy test, hoping relief would rush over me when the positive result appeared.  It was positive, but the relief was fleeting.  "I took another test," I tearily confessed to the Husband that night.  "I just needed to see it again."

He nodded his understanding.  (Oh that all the wives could have a Husband like him.)

Despite his understanding, I couldn't offer myself the same grace.  You've learned this lesson already!   I would scold myself, thinking of our waiting for Faith.  You know by now how to choose faith over fear.  Do it!  Quit wallowing in what you're manufacturing as a future reality when your actual reality suggests that things will be just fine.

But I couldn't believe myself.  Waiting for Faith felt like trusting God's leading and direction and this felt more like something I had pleaded and begged for.  I felt like I wanted it too much and anything you want too much will be taken from you.

Twisted, right?

I hope you hear the lies in there.  I hope you can see what I've been blind to.

With one small seed of worry - my low progesterone - the Thief had managed to steal the joy of this pregnancy, kill my hope and destroy my faith in who God had shown himself to be.  The smallest hidden anxiety was amped up and massaged (and no doubt magnified by some pretty gnarly hormones raging through my body) until I burst into full blown panic.

I knew it.  A part of me knew that I was believing lies - allowing what-ifs to hold more weight than they should.  I knew, but I didn't know what to do about it.  I couldn't snap myself out of it.

So I prayed.

Help.  I whispered in my heart's tiniest voice.  Help.  Rescue me.  I'm lost.  Shepherd, come find me.  Bring me back into your fold.

It's funny because for the last few weeks I've had the words from the bridge of a Brooke Fraser song running through my head, "Hope is coming for me."  I've been singing them to myself without really paying attention to the words.  Hope is coming for me.  Hope.  Is coming for me. 

It was as though Jesus planted that answer to my prayer in my subconscious before I had the presence of mind to pray it.  Hope is coming for you, Kelsey.  I know you feel lost and like you're drowning, but I'm coming.  I won't leave you alone.

And that truth sparked a different story - one in which I am the sheep and Jesus is the Shepherd and he leaves the other 99 sheep to come and find me at the bottom of the pit of anxiety I've dug for myself.  I started telling myself that story and reminded myself that if he is my Shepherd, then I will recognize his voice when he calls for me.  So I started listening for his voice calling for me, coming for me, rescuing me.  And when he finds me, he puts me on his shoulders and carries me home.  He does all the work.  Because I am a silly little sheep and I can't do the rescuing for myself.  And in his arms I - along with all my hopes and dreams and small little babies growing in my belly - I am safe in his arms.

The thing is, the wolf still lurks just outside the pen.  Some nights, I am huddled in the middle of the pen, shaking and trying desperately to remind myself that I'm safe from that prowling beast that paces back and forth whispering fears and worries as though they are truth.  But I am learning to look around and remind myself where I am.  That I am safe.  That the Shepherd will protect me when the wolf attacks.

And just like with Faith, I don't know the outcome.  I might lose this baby.  I might.  But I think God is asking me to trust him that he will care for me no matter what.  I think he is asking me to put my hope in him - not in my body's ability to carry a baby or in the baby itself.  I'm going to choose to put my hope in the One who is unshakably faithful.  He is the only one who does not change or waver.  He is trustworthy.  I will hope in him.

Hebrews 10:23 Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise.

Psalm 91:2 I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


I spent days analyzing my symptoms, weighing the probability against 13 long months with no baby.  I even - against all reason - had been looking at baby names online.  Then I found myself wandering down the feminine care aisle, reading the labels of pregnancy tests.   I bought two different kinds.

I was going to wait to test.  A few more days at least.

"Should I take a test?"

"You should wait until tomorrow," the Husband said.

"I keep asking myself whether I want to live in false hope for a few more days or know for sure now."

"I think you want to know."

"I'm taking one."

I snatched it up off the bed and went into the bathroom, only to emerge seconds later looking for the instruction sheet.

"I want to make sure I do it right," I told the Husband.

Hold stick downward...5 seconds...replace cap...wait three minutes.

A pink link crept across the screen.  One lonely pink line.  I sighed.  It was what I expected.  What I should have expected.  What I'd come to expect.  I began my mental pulling-myself-together routine.

Then I took another look.

Was that?  Could it be a bit of pink emerging alongside that bright lonely line?  I stared at it and - I couldn't help myself - a grin spread across my face.  Shoving the door open, I expected to see the Husband sitting on the bed, but he was gone.  Padding down the hall, I could hear the water running at the kitchen sink.  I ran down the stairs.

"I think it's positive," I said with a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

He turned around.

"I think it's positive," I said again, with a laugh of shock, and turned to go back up the stairs.

We both bent over the plastic stick, me pointing at the ever-more-clear pink line that had materialized in the minute that had passed.

He turned to me and grabbed me and kissed me fiercely.  And my tears came.  Ugly sobbing tears of gratitude and joy and disbelief.

"I can't believe it!  I can't believe it!" I said it again and again.

"I can't believe it!" I sobbed and stared adoringly at the test as though the baby itself was growing inside those little pink lines.  Two little lines that I thought I'd never see again.  Two little lines I had all but laid upon the alter.  Two little lines I had truly drawn on my last bit of faith to hope for.

How many times had I stared at a solitary line, willing another one to show up?  How many times had I wrapped up the disappointing results, washed my face free of tears and steeled myself to face the world?  How many times had I been sure that my symptoms were pregnancy only to have them dissipate in the following days?

I had given up hope.

Or at least I thought I had.  I must have had a smidgeon of hope at the bottom of the barrel.  A stubborn remnant that refused to abandon the dream that my body could grow another baby.

I must have, because only Hope buys four pregnancy tests at 10:30 at night and takes one in the face of disappointment.  Only Hope looks back - double checks - to be sure it's wrong.

Only Hope would believe that we would be pregnant with our third child.

That wily stinker, Hope.

Hope was right.  The dream is waking.

We are having a baby.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

10 Mini-stories: Faith edition

A few weeks ago, I gave you a few Lila stories that weren't quite long enough to warrant their own post, but that I still wanted to document.  Now it's the Faith edition!  Here we go!

1. Faith likes to people watch out the window when she's eating.  The neighbors across the street were having people over and she was intrigued.

Caught me taking the picture

How's this, Mom?
2. Faith has a bunch of new signs!  It's so exciting when she breaks out a new one and she's so proud of herself when she communicated something effectively.  Her latest signs go along with songs we've been singing in her therapy.  I need to get a video of her doing them to capture the absolute cuteness involved.  New signs include: apple, turtle, fish, yummy, up high, down, off and...poop.  Her favorite sign is still "All Done!" and she says, "Ahhh- duh-duh-duh!" with enthusiasm as she signs.

3. Faith and I had a selfie photo shoot while we were waiting in the car for Daddy and Lila to pick up something from Home Depot.  She thinks she's really cute.  So do I.

Hey Mom, here's my sock!

4. Our friends handed down the cutest little pea coat.  I think Faith looks so gorgeous in bright colors.  When the Husband put the hat on her I nearly fell down from the cuteness:

5. Faith loves to hug.  Sometimes her victims recipients are less than enthused about her hug attacks.  We stopped in for a quick visit with my friend Molly and her little guy who tolerated Faith's affections like a gentleman.  Even when they bordered on strangulation.

6. We had a birthday party for Faith.  I am wracked with guilt at the lameness of her parties so far compared the extravagance of Lila's.  But all this mama could muster in this season was pizza on the deck, store-bought cupcakes and a borrowed bouncy house.  Next year (when she is actually old enough to care and notice) I'll get my act together and plan a crazy party for her, too.  Although, let's get real, as long as there's dessert involved, she's happy:

7. Faith took 9 steps today!  A new record!  She was walking toward Lila so maybe all that "help" her big sis was giving her actually paid off!  She looks like a little Chinese Frankenstein, all stiff-legged and wobbly.

8. Faith used to be completely indiscriminate about what she ate.  She'd eat anything - ANYTHING - we put in front of here.  Sadly, those days have passed.  She's still a remarkably great eater, but sometimes she surprises me with what gets rejected.  Tonight she dramatically spit out the bite of chicken taco I gave her.  If I put eggs on her tray, she doesn't even try them - she just throws them off her tray immediately.  She will however eat things off the floor that she previously rejected.  It's not my favorite quirk of hers, I'll be honest.

9.  This is the reality of Faith's life:

It's all love.  And ham-tastic hamminess.

10. We went to the pumpkin patch and Faith played checkers with pumpkins.  It was pretty much the only thing the non-walking people could do while their big sisters jumped off of giant piles of hay and made their mommies nervous with their reckless acrobatics.  This sort of safe pumpkin observation is more my jam.  Atta girl, Faith.

She is getting stronger and smarter and cuter every day.  I'm one lucky mama.  Love that Faith-baby!

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Today: by the minute

7:00 Alarm goes off *SNOOZE*
7:09 Alarm goes off again *SNOOZE*
7:18 Alarm goes off again.  Hear Lila narrating something to Faith over the monitor.  Sometimes they wake each other up and the result is yelling and crying, this morning it's happy chatter.  A good start, but don't be fooled.  Oh yeah, *SNOOZE*
7:27 Alarm goes off again.  Okay, okay I'll get up.  It's picture day after all and I have to be to school by 8:30 sharp.
7:45 Out of the shower.  Yelling to the Husband, "Are the girls dressed?" Applying make-up to try to hide the "I was puking my brains out 48 hours ago from a nasty stomach bug and still feel a little woozy" look.
8:05 Begin battle with Lila over which shoes she will wear in her pictures.  Me: you get to pick which shoes you wear every other day.  I get to pick today.  End of story.  Her: No.
8:15 Battle continues.  I consider a compromise, but stick to my guns as I throw lunches in the car and grab my lesson supplies
8:17 Compromise out of desperation.  Me: wear your cute pink cowgirl boots in the picture and you can bring your other shoes to change into.  Her: No.
8:18 Losing my patience and any sense of on-time-ness.  Me: Lila, NOW.  Her: No.
8:19 Loading up the car.  By some miracle, Lila has chosen to comply with my wishes.  I smooch her cheeks and thank her for obeying Mommy even when she didn't want to and silently forgive all the "no's" from earlier.
8:22 Pull out of the garage
8:24 Realize I forgot a vital part of my science experiment materials
8:32 Drop Lila off at my friend's house for her carpool to preschool
8:41 Arrive 11 minutes late for staff picture, relieved to see another staff member walking up, too.  Guilty Irresponsibility loves company, too right, Misery?
8:45 Drop Faith off unceremoniously in child care
8:46 Faith flips out
8:50 Parents arrive, cute kids all picture-ready walk in and hand me their picture packets.  Faith screams from down the hall and I go rescue her.
9:00 I hold Faith as I welcome kids, gather picture packets and help forgetful parents fill out said packets.
9:05 Faith throws up on me.  Inexplicably, it's on my face.  Puke on my face.  Puke on my face. Puke on MY FACE!
9:10 Desperate phone call to Husband.  Me: Faith threw up.  Can you come get her? Him: (in so many words) I haven't been to work since Friday because you've been sick and my boss will growl at me if I try to leave now. Me: I'll try my mom.
9:12 Desperate phone call to my mom.  She's at work.
9:15 It's our turn for pictures.  Drop Faith off again with saintly childcare workers who accept her puke and all while I run down the hall to help my students with their photos.
9:30 Done with pictures.  Pick up Faith again because she's yelling again and I don't know if she's sick or just mad.
9:45 time for PE.  Drop kids off at PE and decide Faith is not sick and text the Husband to stand by.  She started the flu stuff over the weekend, so I think her tummy is still not quite normal and she got all worked up crying so hard.
9:45-11:30 Snack, quick social studies lesson, bathroom break, etc.
11:30 Recess.  One kid has a splinter.  One kid gets stung by a bee.  One kid keeps falling over for no apparent reason.  One kid's nice picture day clothes are covered in mud.  At least no one throws up on me.
12:00 Lunch.  Kid who got stung by a bee loses her tooth at lunch.  And then she literally loses her tooth.  As in, we can't find it.  She thought she wrapped it up in a napkin, but when she unfolded the napkin to show her many admirers (said one 7 year old, "She's so LUCKY!"), each fold failed to reveal the tooth.  Oh, man.
12:05 Tooth located.  By the coat hooks.  Gross.  Suggested addition line to First Grade Teacher Job Description: Be prepared to deal with loose and lost teeth, teeth dangling by one slimy, fleshy thread as child pushes it in and out with tongue, bloody mouths from lost teeth, and retrieval and recovery operations should lost tooth become, er, lost.
12:30 Jimmy Johns is delivered.  Thank you God, for Jimmy Johns.  And I really, really, really mean that.
1:00 Drop kids off at afternoon special and drive home on my break to get missing piece of the science experiment.
1:45 water cycle experiment a success.  Children's reactions: worth it.  They think I'm a genius.  Bloody teeth by the coat hooks are a small price to pay for the awe and respect from 6 and 7 year olds.
2:00 Kids redeem the day by accurately and adorably illustrating what they learned from the experiment.  Teacher warm fuzzies commence.  Mmmmmm.
2:30-3:00 More antics as the day wraps up.  One kid's key chain keeps moo-ing.  One kid can't find her water bottle which turns up in her backpack which is on her back.  One kid wanders aimlessly despite repeated directions for clean-up.  One kid tries to help and spills a supply bin's contents across the floor.  Many kids are frantically wiggling their own loose teeth, inspired by the earlier events of the day.  Me: You guys! Stop wiggling your teeth!
3:00 Dismissal.  Goodbye you gross and adorable children.  You are my favorite part of my job, despite your bodily fluids and lack of self control.  Because you are also awesome and creative and loving and sweet to each other and helpful and I love you.
4:00 After a quick conversation with a parent, we clean up and load up and make it home to catch the last few innings of the Royals game.
6:00 Both the Husband and I are inexplicably crying as we watch our home team break the 29 year drought and make it to the World Series.  I've never cared so much about baseball!
7:00 The Husband and I are having dinner and I am recounting my day from boot battle to puke to tooth to Pennant victory.  We lose it giggling when I tell him about the lost (in more ways than one) tooth.
7:30 The girls are asleep and I am ready for bed, too.  A good day if you consider the bookends and erase some of the middle.  I woke up to my girls "chatting" happily together in their shared room and will fall asleep next to my awesome guy who took his own sick days to take care of me the last three days, who asks me about my day and who cries (mostly) unashamedly when his team, the underdogs if ever there were some, makes it into the World Series.  A good day indeed.


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

10 Mini-stories: Lila Edition

I have a few Lila stories that don't warrant an entire post, but that are too good not to tell:

1. Faith was in the cart at Target and Lila touched her toes and said to me, "Is this baby named Faith?"

"Yes," I said, shaking my head at her constant dramatic play.

"Oh!  She'll be perfect for my collection of babies named Faith!"

For her collection.  Her collection of babies.  Her collection of babies name Faith.  What a weirdo.

2. Lila started a ballet class on Fridays.  The class starts at 11:00am.  The first week of class I found her dressed and ready to go at 8:30am.  When I told her she had about three more hours to wait until class she said, in an exasperated voice, "Really?"
at 8:30am
2.5 hours later right before class
3. The Husband told Lila that she is now four and three quarters.  So now she corrects me when I say she's four or four and a half.  Four and three quarters, Mommy.  To which I say: Stop. Growing. Up.

4. Lila read me a whole book this weekend.  The Foot Book.  I mean, I helped her, but Sister sounded out words with enough fluency that she could follow the story and she stuck with it and she was proud.  I was proud.  I think the biggest challenge for her in school will be her impatience.  She picks things up so quickly, but if it's even remotely challenging she gets bored and/or frustrated.  Good luck, Lila's Future Teachers!

5. Lila gets all squealy and high-pitched when she's excited about something Faith is doing.  She's Faith's biggest and best cheerleader.  Today I caught her "helping" Faith walk across the family room.  "She's WALKING!" she squealed.

5. I watched my friend's little girl today.  I was taking pictures of cutie-pie Iris to send to her mommy when Faith climbed on my lap and stuck her crazy-haired head in front of the camera:

Then, in my periphery I saw Lila scoot over a few feet and when I looked up she was posing for the camera:

She's a ham.

6. Going through old photos I found this one from when we were still living with my parents:

The Husband had been writing inappropriate things with the magnet letters on my parents' fridge and when Lila saw this one morning she said, with disgust, "Hey! Who put an extra 'o' in Pop's name!"  Now that she can read, she'll get the joke.

7. There's not really a story for this one, but I love this picture I took of Lila and my sister.  Aunt Jess to the rescue with pink nail polish.  I have a disappointing lack of nail polish for my four year old (four and three quarters, mom).  By which I mean I have one bottle of nearly invisible light pink that has separated permanently and is unusable.  Aunt Jess will have to be the one to teach my girls how to apply make-up and do their hair because this mama never learned how to be a girl.

Um ^^^ those undies ^^^ sicking out of her leotard SLAY me 
8. Lila has a few really good friends.  God has been gracious to give her buddies who have a similar energy, personality, spunk and love for princesses.  Jazzy is one of those gal-pals.  I love this picture because when we picked Jazz up to play one day after her brother had heart surgery, the girls insisted that I move both carseats in the back so they could sit next to each other and hold hands.  They giggled the entire way home.  There is no better sound than little girls' giggles.

9. Lila's preschool class has a stuffed bunny named Todd who gets to go home with a student every weekend.  Lila's turn was a few weeks ago.  I was going to take pictures of all the things we did with Todd, but when she insisted that Todd be a participant in every. single. thing. she did that weekend, I gave up after only two activities.
She taught him how to play Candy Land and somehow he won.
She took him outside to play on the swing set.  Todd told me he didn't mind that we only had a pink swing.  He's a very agreeable bunny.
10. Some recent art of Lila's:
At preschool

At preschool

My mother-in-law gave Faith a darling book that has a different emotion on each page with an illustration of a fish expressing that emotion.  Lila has taken to doing her own versions of the illustrations and it is THE CUTEST.

Art activity from first day of school - they decorated their person with the outfit they were wearing.   Also, WHY does my child look 8 years old in that picture?!

This currently holds the top spot on my list of favorite drawings she's done.  The sleeves are my very, very favorite.

Drawing with Pop
Stay tuned for Faith's mini-stories!

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Ghost Baby

Lila was having a rest time today while Faith napped.  She was playing quietly with her Legos in the play room across the hall from our bedroom where I was stuffing Faith's diapers.  I heard the door to the playroom open and Lila peeked her head around the door looking...worried.



"I pretended there was a ghost baby pushing the grocery cart of my Legos and then I started to imagine there really was a ghost baby in the play room and now I'm scared."

Trying to hide my smile I pulled her up onto the bed with me and held her.  "Let's pretend there's someone else pushing the cart - like a princess or something."

"But I already imagined the ghost baby and now I can't imagine anything else."

"Then imagine that the ghost baby is a silly ghost baby.  Imagine he says goo-boo-goo-boo and that he has a poopy diaper.  Nothing with a poopy diaper can be scary."

She grinned and laughed.  "Okay.  First can I tell you a joke?"



"Who's there?"

"Ghost Baby."

"Ghost Baby who?"

"Ghost Baby poopy diaper!"

"Good one.  Now go back and play."

And she did.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

A Letter to My Littler Daughter: Year TWO (18 months home)

Dear Faith,

Today you are two and that means you have been a part of our family for 18 months.  Truly, you have been a part of our family since we first learned you existed - we loved you from that very moment.  From that moment, you were ours in our hearts even though we had to wait three long months to bring you home.

Your birthday this year feels completely different than it did last year.  Last year, you had been home just 6 months and I was still trying to figure out how to be your mom while sorting out the role your First Mama should play in your life.  I think I will forever be sorting that out, which is not a bad thing.
At the dumpling party this summer - it is saying something that this is the least blurry picture I took of them that day.
But this year, I am confident in my mothering of you.  I know you and you know me.  I trust my instincts about your needs and you are a uniquely happy and contented baby.

Except you are no longer a baby.  It was just a few months ago that I remarked to Daddy that you finally felt like a toddler and less like a baby.  You can do so much now - feed yourself, maneuver your body in pretty much any way you desire (you figured out how to climb on top of the coffee table - a new skill that you are thrilled with and I am wishing you hadn't acquired!), and communicate your basic desires (mostly through signs and yelling) - all of which have brought you a freedom and independence that you relish.
Just like with your sister each year, I am in awe of how much you have grown and changed in the last 12 months.  However, my awe is different somehow.  With Lila, my awe is rooted in how quickly time passes, how much she develops in such a short amount of time.  I am amazed at the ease with which she acquires new skills - she seems to wake up each day with a new ability logged into her brain.  But with you, I find I'm amazed at your perseverance, your tenacity, your spunk and pluck.  Your development is slow and delayed, but I am no less in awe of it for completely opposite reasons. Where Lila seems to just pick up new skills left and right, your skills come slowly, deliberately and we get to see the process evolve.  It is fascinating and inspiring.

At two years old, most people would only see your lack of development and take note of all the milestones you have not yet reached.  You aren't walking yet - although you stand up for several seconds and have taken three steps, you have limited words and most of them are signed, and you are eons away from being potty trained.  But I have watched you fight for those skills with moxie and courage.  I have been struck by your resolve (a character trait you surely inherited from First Mama and one that I greatly admire) and determination to achieve your goals and get where you are going. You WILL climb those stairs, even in the face of great obstacles like your low muscle tone or your frustrating mommy who, despite dramatic arms waving "all done!" does not seem to understand that you do NOT want her to interrupt your summit.  (Sorry about that, it's just that I have visions of your head becoming friendly with the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs!)

Your therapists often comment on how determined you are and how helpful a character trait that is when you will have a lot of things to overcome in your life.  It makes me grateful to your First Mama for passing that down to you, and grateful to God for already giving you what you need in the face of the challenges you will encounter.

You still prefer to scoot around on your bottom.  I call you Baby Roomba because you seem to like to scoot along the baseboards and walls of a room for some reason.  You have several signs (hi and bye, all done/no, more/yes, eat, drink, baby, ball, bubbles, go, a celebratory clap, me, dog, please, down, up, blow kisses) and know several more visually that you can't yet mimic.  I'm pretty sure you're intentionally holding out on me because you can say "ma-ma-ma" when you want more of something, but you refuse to say it for mommy.  When that word does finally come out of your mouth I will melt into a gooey puddle, I guarantee.

taken by Nanny - love that grin!
You adore your sister and she is wild about you.  You light up when she comes in the room, dive in to hug her and cry when we drop her off at preschool.  I am so grateful for the relationship that the two of you have!

You love to bounce, eat and play with other kids.  You adore babies and are surprisingly gentle with them.  Your favorite toys are balls and anything you can take out of something and put back in.  You have a magnetism to things that are not safe or age appropriate (electrical outlets, Sissy's markers, etc).

You were trying to put the stethoscope around Weston's neck - so helpful!
You give the absolute best hugs in the universe and you give them freely and frequently.  Your laugh makes me giddy, your humor charms me, and your love of life is an inspiration.  You are passionate about doing things by yourself and if we interfere, you will squirm and thrash and grunt and holler until we relent and allow you to go about your business.  The only time you really cry is when you get hurt, when we leave you with a sitter, and when we put you in bed before you're ready.  But you are always quick to recover.  Your adaptability amazes me.
adaptability: napping in Home Depot
I am delighted by you, little girl.  I simply cannot imagine our family without you.  You are a gift, your life is a story worth telling.  Every day, I am grateful that I get to be your mommy.
Love this girl!
I love you so very much.  Happy Birthday, Faith-baby.