Sweet Baby Girl

Today my sweet baby girl turns four. I don't want her to be four; I want her to be three. As irrational as this thought may sound to you, it makes perfect sense to a mom who is clinging to the last little one in the house with a grip that dares to defy time. I guess I always thought I would have a baby on a hip even though the rational part of my brain clearly recalls the "clipping of the wings" experienced by my husband. As hard as it is to forget the many bags of frozen peas purchased, or the all-day, repetitive drone of ESPN sportscenter, I really don't want to remember the occasion. Because if I do, I must recognize and cognitively embrace that Mary Mac is the last baby. Again, very irrational. But it's my blog, and I'll sulk if I want to.

I keep begging God to keep them little for a while longer but I think He must only be listening to the prayers of my children. They pray to grow bigger and stronger and to "do it all by myself". And to add more salt to my maternal wound, they joyfully embrace another year expired with great celebration and fanfare. Their faces light up with the excitement of what they will be able to accomplish in the next year while I, on the other hand, just want to wallow in the corner like the whiny baby I want to rock again.

So baby girl becomes a big girl with fingers and toes that aren't nearly as pudgy as they used to be. And the baby fat I love to chew on has almost been all gnawed off with a ravenous love only moms can understand. She is independent and precocious,dramatic and demanding and I simply can't get enough of her.

For the past week, I have been telling Mary Mac that for this birthday only I want her to stay the same age. She informed that this was not possible, firmly stating, "If I stay three then I won't be closer to twelve." Exactly my point, sweet girl. Happy Birthday Mary Mac!