Sometimes at dinner, she takes a time out to come over and hug me. More often than not, I remind her to stay in her seat during dinner. I shouldn’t worry about that and just enjoy the hug more. I know that one day she won’t have a spontaneous need to hug me.
Tomorrow my firstborn child turns five years old. It seems unfathomable that she will be that old, that we’ll head to kindergarten round-up soon, that she’s got a loose tooth. She is the perfect big sister, bossy and helpful at the same time. She loves kitties above all else, but wants to have a poodle when she grows up. And when she’s all grown up with that poodle, she’s going to be a princess who dances all day. Dancing is her favorite.
Next week we’re having her princess tea party complete with fancy china and glassware from the thrift shop. All her friends are wearing their princess gowns and, unbeknownst to her, a “real” princess will be attending the party too complete with games, story time, and a coronation ceremony. Her little head would explode if I told her everything that’s going to happen at her party.
I can’t wait to see her face. Can’t wait to see her all dressed up in her princess gown, running around with her friends, screaming at the top of their lungs. She’s already requested the nail polish color she wants to wear for her party. I don’t know where this extreme girly-ness comes from. It’s not in my nature, not in my childhood, not in the way I mother. But to see her become this child, this girl, who loves all things pink and dressy and sparkly tickles me to no end.
I can’t wait to see where she goes, what she becomes, the woman that she will end up one day. And I thank my God every single moment I have with her, that I get to be a part of her story and that she made mine better than I could have ever imagined.
Happy birthday Elliott Quinn.