Five years ago tonight, at this moment, I was sound asleep. I was blissfully unaware that nine hours from then, I would be holding my new baby daughter in my arms. I had no idea that from the moment she took that first breath, she'd take mine away day after day with her very presence. I had no idea that starting with the first sound that came out of her mouth, a throaty cry, she wouldn't stop talking for nearly five years. (Seriously. She doesn't ever stop talking. Ever.)
She is a sunny, happy, sing-songy, delightful little girl, full of mischief, drama, and plans whispered behind two cupped palms (not yet aware that carrying out said whispered plans is a bit easier if your accomplice can actually hear you). One was darling, two was practically edible, three was delirious, and four was glorious. And now it's five. My imagination isn't broad enough to foresee what the year will bring. Hers is, though. I'm guessing she has all kinds of plans. (Some of which she's shared, and includes but is not limited to: losing teeth, playing tee-ball and soccer, and being a Daisy Scout.)
So Happy Birthday, cupcake. You're a goof and a doll, and I love you to to the moon, and back. You are the apple of my eye, you make me happy when skies are grey, and you're My Girl.
And don't you dare stop talking or planning or singing. We live for it. Daddy, your Big Brother, and Me.
I'm ready, Five. Bring it on.