It seems that you put way too much time into an event that
last just shy of two hours and no one really seems to care whether or not you
made the cupcakes or bought them from the store anyway. The decorations are
fun, but again, no one cares.
Last night my sweet sister C came over to help me finish
getting things ready for Miss H’s birthday party. We baked cupcakes and made
cake pops. I had to tell my perfectionist, controlling side to chill out and
just let her do the cupcakes, let her put the birthday banner together, it was
all going to be okay. I have a hard time giving up control, to say the least.
We worked until midnight getting things just so. In less
than 20 minutes several 2 and 3 year olds had devoured the food and pulled down
crepe paper streamers. It was fun and beautiful and my sweet girl had a blast,
which was all I cared about anyway. It was the point of it all.
My baby will be three tomorrow. I cannot believe that three
whole years have come and gone since those first amazing moments when I laid
eyes on sweet perfection. My tiny, hairy, angry old man-faced girl, the most
beautiful, wonderful thing in my world.
In so many ways three years seems like a lifetime. The days
have been terribly long sometimes. The person I was three years ago and the one
I am now seem like strangers, and for a change that drastic it seems one would
need an entire lifetime to get there.
But at the same time, three years seems like mere seconds.
It seems like only yesterday I was blessed for the first time to be a momma.
Only yesterday that I cheered on my toddling tot or felt her tiny hand on my
growing, moving belly. Only yesterday that I first listened to her jabber like
an infant rather than speak like an eloquent and proficient old lady.
Three years have come and gone. Three, beautiful, wonderful,
glorious years. The best and happiest three years of my life thus far. Three years of being a mom. Three years of constantly becoming
a better me. Three years of getting to be a part of the precious life of one of
the most spectacular people I know. My darling little girl.
She requested a ballerina party, so a ballerina party she
got, complete with a piñata and everything. Three years old. So young. So
delicate. So pure and innocent. And yet so grown up and precocious and
outspoken.
Perfect. She’s perfect.
And before I became a weepy, sappy old mess, I will leave with you some pictures of her party.
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