happy birthday, babydoll!

November 1 is The Babe's birthday. I am a day late with this post. I am late because I can't sort out what I want to say so that it might be coherent to anyone who might be reading.

Let's start with the obvious.... I love The Babe. I love her so much that the thought of not having The Babe around hurts me, actually, physically makes me ill.

I love that she tells jokes that make no sense and laughs as though it was the funniest thing in the world. I love that she will now eat asparagus, but only the tips. I love that she almost always wants a pretty dress, but doesn't seem to notice that her hair is a total mess. I love that everything takes turns with her: one night we wash her hair using the pitcher of water, the next time we can use the sprayer... tonight she will sleep with little cat in the bed, but tomorrow it will be puppy. She has a system for everything. I love that she believes me when I tell her that she can't or shouldn't do something, and then genuinely tries not to do said thing. I love that she dances like a total maniac and has no rhythym (just like mommy). I love that she will do these dances while her daddy plays the latest Tool song on his (not plugged in) electric guitar. Nothing like not realizing that Tool is total heavy ick music that mommy can't stand... I still love to see her dance. I even love that she will make herself gag when I am trying to get her to try a new food, as though pasta with actual (gasp!) red sauce will actually kill her. I love that she can be dramatic.

I love that she cares about other people's feelings. I love that she thinks about how what she does might make someone feel. I love that she shares. I love that she laughs. I love that she draws pictures for her friends before they come over and is so excited to give it to them. I love that she spends time teaching The Boy his ABC's and nobody ever asked her to. I love that she gives him a hug and kiss every night before bed. I love that she cheers loudest of all when The Boy goes tinkle on the potty. I love that she's daddy's little girl, and no one can make her smile the way he does, even though that one hurt when I first realized it.

I love her pretend friends, and the fact that one of them has a birthday at least once a week. I love that she doesn't realize that they all must be 25 years old by now.

I love that her favorite bear, Brown Bear, the one she's had since she was 9 months old and still sleeps in her bed every night... I love that Brown Bear has a hole worn right through him and lost his bead stuffing because "he got too much love". I love that every 6 months or so she picks out a new shape and color of fabric for me to patch him up with, because now the patch has gotten "too much love", too.

I loved her when she was a tiny baby. I've loved her every step along the way. I love her now more than ever, and I love the person that she's growing up to be.

I love you, babydoll. Happy Birthday....