And Then She Was 3

Dearest Abby,

Yesterday, you turned 3 years old. You had been waiting for this day for an eternity it seemed, singing Happy Birthday to yourself for months. I hope it lived up to the hype.

You are now a big girl. Not a baby, not even a toddler. You’ve crossed the threshold into preschool age.

This past year, you have surpassed all expectations. We carry on conversations, an honest back and forth, where your strong opinions are always known. You also make me laugh like no one else, your smile beams like the sun across a room. You love the iPhone and markers and that darn Curious George. You also enjoy chasing after your brothers. In fact, you follow Buzz everywhere you shouldn’t. I firmly believe you enjoy the thrill of getting in trouble, a harrowing sign of what’s to come, and you find yourself in plenty of it. Yet, you are my helper, my tail, my girl who wants to do it all.

And when your small hand hugs around my neck, your head resting on my shoulder as I inhale the strawberry scent of your curls, I think this. This is exactly how it should be.

My pretty girl. My silly girl. My Abby-mouse. You are the epitome of vibrant. Better than I could have ever imagined a daughter could be.

I love you, sweetheart. Always.

Happy Birthday.

Rockin’ My Babies

Jedi, November 10 2003, after 29.5 hours of labor.

Buzz, April 26 2006, after 6 hours of labor.

Abby, July 24 2008, after 2 hours of labor.

Even though I sometimes miss them being this small, squinty-eyed and screaming, and can’t believe it wasn’t yesterday, I’m more fond of the little people they’re growing into.

Then, there’s this:

Buzz at 1 month, giving 2 year old Jedi a piece of his mind. Some things never change.

Linked up with Rockin’ the Baby and Wordful/Wordless Wednesday.

Style Maven

Picasso

Take a good long look at this face.

I know. I ask if I can take a picture on his last day of school and this is the best he gives me. My point proven on this post.

But this boy. He may very well be the next Picasso.

At least he is to me, anyway. His creative eye, and that picture, they both just slay me.

Preferential Treatment

The opportunity to get behind the lens and capture moments with photographs has grown fleeting these days. When Jedi was a younger youngster, I would carry my camera everywhere. I’d snap pictures of him doing everything and nothing. Some of my favorite photos are of him just goofing off. I was proud of the set of images that accumulated. With each subsequent sibling, however, the new snapshots are less and less. I could blame it on the second, or third, child syndrome, or how I just need a DSLR, which is true. But there’s a much bigger reason than that.

My subjects are less than cooperative anymore, to put it kindly.

When I do take pictures, it’s usually of Abby. I admit I play favorites, but I have my reasons.

She’ll pose
If I ask her to stand a certain way, she’ll oblige. When I prod her to smile, she will, usually bigger than intended. The boys simply do not follow direction, giving me surly looks or picking their nose instead.

She stays still
She’ll wait until I have the shot to move on, while the boys are too eager to run. Without exaggeration, 90% of the pictures I have of Buzz are nothing more than a blur of color. I can almost make out his shape in a few, and it’s sad that I consider those keepers.

She asks me to
Abby will dress up for the sole purpose of a photo shoot, while trying to persuade Jedi into a frame is on par with jabbing a toothpick in my eye. And that’s just not pleasant.

Even my daughter has her limits, though. As do I. Which is why my camera is seldom seen and largely neglected these days.