This weekend, our baby turns three. For me, every birthday in our home is bittersweet. There is always new milestones to celebrate and excitement for the year ahead. What will they do? How much will they accomplish? What will they shock us with this year?
But a birthday will always mean my munchkins are a year older. Always.
Our Moopa at age three has had a more eventful life than our other children did. We've been through eye surgery, visited many doctors and completed countless therapy sessions. Our baby girl has had more struggles than our other children; she has had to work harder to accomplish the same tasks as they did.
She still does.
But on the playground, she holds her own. At home she thinks she is the boss. She is a typical toddler who pushes the limits and hits when she gets angry. She loves "the princesses" and Strawberry Shortcake. She eats oatmeal one day and hates it the next, and she somehow knows every word to every song on Hits 1.
Her brain truly is a sponge, absorbing everything around her. In this house, that can be frightening.
This year I'm happy to celebrate Moopa starting preschool, and watching her continue to blossom and learn. She amazes me every day with her wit and constant humor. And while I mourn the end of that "new baby smell," I look forward to sharing in her journey as she continues to grow and become who she was meant to be.
Happy Birthday to my baby girl, which I will forever call you. And I know very well it will drive you crazy one day.
To me you will always be my little Moopa who totes around her pink "Lovey." Always.
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