To Lorelei, On Your 4th Birthday

My darling little pistol. Yesterday it hit me, like a toddler barreling toward her mama at preschool pick-up: Mere hours were left in which I could call you my toddler.

When I announced it was time to go upstairs and brush your teeth, you climbed into my lap and said, "Carry me up like a baby!"

"Oh, fiiiiiine," I laughed, heave-ho standing up, you cradled in my arms.

You and me? We caught each other's eye. The silliness faded, and you gazed up at me with your greenish, Lorelei-esque eyes, and I gazed down at you, your ridiculously huge almost-four-year-old body in my arms, against my chest, your long legs dangling down like overflow.

Maybe you were getting sleepy, or maybe you knew that I just needed to hold you. Cradle you and carry you like a baby, just one more time.

Oh! I thought. Is this for real? The baby of my babies is now a big girl too? Oh, dear. Perhaps all those people--so, so, so many people--lecturing me on "it goes by so fast" . . . were right?

Lorelei. You have tried my patience more than anybody else In. My. Life. You have wreaked havoc in all sorts of ways. But my goodness, never was a child more endearing during the havoc-wreaking process.

It took 2 years to potty-train you. (Two. Years.)

You negotiate better than any lawyer, with charm, clever manipulation, and a weird analytical knack for finding holes in our arguments.

Your hearing is so selective that I actually had you tested by an audiologist and examined by an ENT to determine whether you were deaf or stubborn. Guess which one you are?

You are unafraid of calling any punishment bluff. You are ballsy as heck when it comes to speaking up for yourself. You are persistent. Good lord, you are persistent--a trait that will serve you well. Later.

But Lorelei, you are so full love and can be the sweetest creature on earth. You give the best hugs, the sweetest kisses, the most whimsical grins. Affectionate doesn't even begin to describe you. You are unbelievably and enthusiastically loving. And oh, love does indeed cover a multitude of sins.

Also? You have terrible hair. Partly due to genetics. Partly due to your sister playing barbershop. And partly due to your outright refusal to wear any sort of hair accessory, ever.

Lorelei, sometimes I giggle at our good fortune, giddy in the knowledge that you are ours. You are our feisty, sweet Lorelei. Ours!

We can't imagine our family without you, precious girl. And today we celebrate that you were born and that you are you. Happy birthday.

Baby Lorelei.

Lorelei at one year.

Lorelei at two. Lordy.

Lorelei at three.

Lorelei at four.