So it's no secret that I have been a baby factory for the past seven years. We have been blessed, oh-so-blessed, to have a gaggle of healthy, happy kids. All but one have celebrated birthdays thus far, and while every birthday brings great joy by ways of a party and presents and happiness for another great year, it is my first daughter's birthday, this Friday, March 2nd that doesn't just bring me great joy, but I find myself close to tears during the days leading up to it.
It was how big she is.
How old she seems now.
How just seven years ago, I wondered who my sweet little baby would resemble, whose personality she would favor, how she would act/be/become when she went to school.
And she's there.
And so is that lump.
But she's SEVEN.
My baby is SEVEN.
Where did my time go? In seven more years, she'll be in high school (gasp), and seven more...college.
I can't even begin to think about that.
So, for now, as I watch her hop over the fence with great ease, walking slowly amongst the cows, I see my girl the way I hoped she would be at seven: caring, careful, and carefree. My little girl has grown up a lot, but not too much, and, thankfully, not too fast.
Because there's still ravioli on her shirt.