"It's those early years that are opportunity to teach her what she needs to know to go into the world and be a happy, healthy, compassionate person. We've only got five or six years."
DH and I have said this so many times, usually after an age-appropriate incident deeming discipline or a heartbreaking moment when she learned a life lesson through the eyes of dissapointment.
Six years ago she was born in a snow storm, after 38 weeks of worry and haunting visions of our past. The relief I felt when I heard her cry was palpable. The last six years have flown by. I can barely believe myself as I type this. I know my numbers - six comes after five, but it just feels so different this year. Five was managable, a milestone, the year you get four shots because you go to Kindergarten in the fall.
Six feels murky, undefinable. She's taller and made a full transition to girly girl, complete with stick on earrings, princess rings and varied length necklaces every day. She love peanut butter and fluff sanwiches. She made the transition to gluten free eating last summer and with only a moddecum of frustration. She's exploring the world in her own way, independent of me for a great majority of each and every day. It is a year of exciting transition for her - it is scary for me.
So, for my own sake I need to go back. I need to see that baby who used to rely on me for mostly everything.
Please enjoy these annual shots of my middle child - my rainbow baby. My sweet and salty girl, my cruise director, my time keeper, the generational image of a mini-me.