Moo hit the double digits today.
When asked what kind of cake she wanted, she said, “PANCAKES!”
For those of you who haven’t always read me, Moo is our youngest child, and she’s the best/worst child ever. Basically, she’s the only one of our kids who is really, really good at being a child. She’s so childish. Her second grade teacher said, “She is just what you want a child to be: A child who enjoys her childhood.”
She’s only fourteen months behind her sister, because two methods of birth control and nursing weren’t enough to stop her from entering the world!
I actually know the date, the time, location, and position that created Moo, because people with two kids and a baby don’t have a lot of alone time.
My MIL had been nagging me that I was pregnant. She was just sure I was pregnant. She was all, “Your face is different. I can see it in your face. And you’re so tired. And this morning, you ate cold meat. And you have heartburn all the time.”
And I was all indignant, and tired of her annoying me about what could not possibly be. Afterall, it took us years to conceive.
So, on my way to pick up The Mister, I decided I would stop by the clinic and take a test. I would shove the results in her face and tell her to Shut Up.
But that’s not how it went.
The nurse asked me if I planned to keep the baby.
“THE BABY?!? WHAT BABY?!? WHAT?!?”
I went into a form of shock.
Have you ever noticed that in the movies, couples who are unexpectedly expecting say, “This isn’t possible?” Yeah, you know what? It’s a cliche for a reason. I know, because that’s exactly what I said.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
I was completely trite.
I picked my husband up from work. I was in quite a state, crying and giggling, “We’re having a baby. Another baby.”
He smirked, broke into a smile, and laughed.
It took some time for the shock to settle.
Ten years of Moo is a lot. It’s like twenty years with other children. She started with colic and quickly moved to climbing everything. She has been, by far, the most mischievous.
She’s got everyone snowed.
I read her first report card to her siblings, “Pleasure to have in class. Helpful, kind, cooperative,” the other three children asked, IN UNISON, “Why can’t she be like that at home?”
We don’t know that child.
We see her in public sometimes…
Of course, she’s delightful. So long as she hasn’t lost anything, doesn’t need anything, and well, when she’s asleep — we just love her to bits!
She’s too bright. She has too much energy. She’s too funny. She’s too cute. She’s too passionate.
It’s like God shoved all of our intensity into this tiny little person. She speaks her mind, she shoots from the hip, she takes no shit. She has her daddy’s temper and her mama’s tongue.
She’s a nightmare.
I always say she’s the best surprise I ever got.