Three

She woke on her birthday, excited, hair a tangled mess. She pranced about in her purple footed jammies, tearing open pink paper and bows. Jabbering, laughing, pretending.

She was a month early. She was tiny. She was covered in lanugo that had yet to fall out. She was colicky. She had jaundice. She had a hard time nursing. She never slept. She insisted that she lay safely in my arms at all times. She threw fits. 

(Correction: she THROWS fits)

She is beautiful, full of fire and life. She is determined, incredibly smart. She loves to be loved upon, kissed and cuddled. She potty trained herself. She loves the color purple and wears a tutu over her jeans, along with mismatching rain boots.  She has a birthmark on her belly, and a freckle on her ankle. She makes me laugh, makes me cry, and makes me think that perfection can exist in a 25 pound ball of feistiness. She is mine.

She is three....

....and off to school she went. Quiet, contemplative, leaving behind a Mommy who was not ready, and sad to see her go. She loved it. She loved all of it, and when we were driving home, she asked me if we could go back.