The baby is turning 5 and a half. We held a family meeting. We voted 3-1 against it. There were petitions passed about. Protest rallies. I started a Facebook movement: “Moms Against Babies Growing Up (Who Smell Like Lavender)”. It gained some steam, but we had our detractors, passing around phrases like “inevitable”, and “you can’t stop the world from turning”. Short-sighted ninny-poopers. She smells like soft cotton coated in lavender. What about that needs clarifying?!
But in the end, the half-birthday cookies were made and handed out at lunch. Songs were sung. Gifts were chosen out of the class birthday box. Something about a fake cake and chants in Spanish class I cannot understand. Blah, blah, blah…can’t you look in those eyes and see she’s just a Boo Boo Chicken? With every passing day, she acts and looks more and more like her Momma, and the world can’t possibly handle two of us?
No, I think it’s better if those tiny soft cheeks stay tiny. I can barely pick up her gangley-limbed sister these days. What shall become of me when my little squirt outgrows my hip? I apologize if I take a break from this space, but as a lover of Physics, I’ll need to map out my plans for a time machine. Pillow-y silky smooth lavender that cuddles like a kitten. I have no choice in these matters. You understand.
Happy Half Birthday Chick. I never thought I’d want a twin, let alone a blonde twin (oh heavens, what was God thinking there?!), but goodness gracious oh Mighty Me. You are so perfect.