She's My Everything

She cried a great deal as a baby. A great deal. As in, "I'm losing my mind!" type of crying. It lasted four. Solid. Months.

Thankfully, she outgrew that, or Boy might be an only child. Or I'd be writing this from the loony bin.



She loved to play dress up. We had a large Rubbermaid container that housed a judges robe, a wedding dress, a pink boa, a karate uniform, and various other do-dads. She still likes to dress up only now her beauty attracts attention in a different sort of way. (Her father owns a gun. I'm just sayin')



She likes her dog and her Starbucks. She plays music on the piano that I cannot read. She quotes Shakespeare and reads Turgenev. She is her brother's biggest fan and her father's little girl.

She has taught me how to be a mother to a daughter. You may find that strange, but considering I come from a highly dysfunctional family, learning to be a good mother has sometimes been an uphill battle.

We've reached the point where she is taller than I am, prettier than I am, and smar...okay, I draw the line RIGHT THERE! She is becoming a woman I'd like to be friends with. Funny that.



So, Girl, happy 17th birthday. Time has flown past me and left a grown woman standing before me where a little girl once stood. I'm proud of your strength, your brain, and your beautiful heart. I love that you love Jesus and that you still want your old mother hanging around.

I love you baby!