My baby is turning eight.
That's an old baby.
It's been so much fun having all these girls, all these little girls and all their foolishness and wild giggling, and storming pouty huffs, the barbie dolls and hair ribbons, the weddings, the bridesmaids.
julia
john and dannell's wedding, 2003
(Heidi was the best huff-thrower. She wasn't even five when she'd do this: run to her room and SLAM the door and yell, "FINE!" Then she'd open the door and slam it again and yell fine again, and again.
We just pretended we didn't hear. I mean, what do you say to someone like that?
One afternoon, she was sent to her room and as she ran around the corner of the couch, she stopped and jumped up and down a few times, then ran to her room for the door and the FINE routine.
My sister said, "Do you know what she was doing there?"
Me, sigh, "No."
Pam, doubled over laughing in awe, "She was jumping on your purse!"
Oh my gosh. She's so civilized now too.)
Anyway, this errand tonight involved Barbie dolls and crazy socks, a few books, a craft kit, and a little stuffed animal with its own baby bottle. (Good thing she doesn't much read this blog yet.)
AND I also ordered the JUSTIN BIEBER birthday cake!!!! SquEEEAaaaL! She did not want the big, fat birthday cake we usually have. Noooo. The Bieber we must have.
So that's the end of that. The air is so balmy and overheated the windows were foggy driving home from the store.
My baby's turning eight. I never imagined this beautiful girl ahead of time, and I'm glad I didn't know back in the beginning. How do you wait twenty-five years for a child? I suppose you do it. I did, just didn't know.
Grandma's coming tomorrow just for her, and she's already asked me the time four times, and has laid out her clothes and even put toothpaste on her toothbrush for the morning. It's very exciting to be eight, I can see. Onward. love always, Val
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