Today I ran across some old pictures on our video camera by accident. What a gift to take a walk down memory lane and remember the spunk and spirit you brought to us when you were so little. It made me smile that you are 93 months old today, and you are still bringing us that spunk and spirit, but now in an "I've-got-my-act-together-because-I'm-in-the-second-grade" kind of way.
Daddy and I knew shortly after you were born that your fire-red hair was an indication of your fire-red spirit, and that it would be the thing we would love the most about you but also the thing that would challenge us the most. And you did not disappoint.
That fire-red spirit brought us moments like this:
And now we get moments like this:
I've been more sentimental than usual in the past month about you growing up. I hear you using words like "literally" and "horrendous" in every-day sentences, and I'm reminded that you aren't a little girl any more. And even though I'm crazy about the 93-month old that you've become, something inside of me wants to remember you as that little bitty girl who needed her Mama for pretty much everything. Who didn't know anything about boyfriends or cell phones. Who didn't yet know about hurt feelings and peer pressure.
But I can't keep you little. Heck, I can't keep you at 93 months. And I won't try. But you can keep your fire-red spirit, and I hope you always do.
I love you, precious one. I love watching you grow and becoming the You you were always intended to be.