Happy Birthday, Lovey.

The little one is 3.  

Today we will celebrate with cake, presents, and enchiladas (her favorite).  

She is the rambunctious one.  The ornery one.  The one who wears me out consistently.  

She is bold, daring, and aggressive.  She laughs at danger and scoffs at calamity.  She is her father’s daughter.

She is mama’s sweet little shadow.  She bounces along to the laundry room to pour in the soap and sort the colors.  She skips to the kitchen to empty the dishwasher.  She gallops into the the bedroom to pair up the socks.

She begins the day like a firecracker on the 4th of July and rip-roars through each day, turning somersaults into her bed to bring the day to a screeching halt.  

And this exhausted mama follows suit shortly thereafter.  

She makes me smile.

Lovey is 3.  

There is a strange phenomenon in our sweet family.  It began with Peanut who was born the day for my birthday.  A darling gift just for me.  Then Ladybug came forth the day before my mother-in-law’s birthday.  Pure providence.

Then, Lovey.  Born the day before my mother’s birthday.  Which also happened to be my late Grammy’s 80th birthday.  Dear Grammy entered sweet rest the day before little Lovey came, just one day shy of 80.  

Another perfect gift.  At the perfect time.  

I love you, Little One.  Please, slow down.  I want to squeeze more into every day I have with you…

Happy Birthday.


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