My baby hit double digits today.
Parents look at their kids and see themselves; or at least parts of themselves. They have Grandma’s eyes and Papa’s name and the quirks and the mannerisms. My boys have these things – little things that used to belong to me, but now belong to them. Like my oldest son’s finger tapping when he’s losing his patience and trying not to get angry. Or my middle son’s stomach knots when he’s excited or worried, even when he knows the outcome already. His love of good food and his hysterical laugh.
But my daughter….she’s all her own. She’s got the DNA; she looks just like me and could be her cousin’s twin. Her personality, though is all her own. Her love of fashion and clothes, her wild nail polish and her amazing hair styles. I don’t know where she gets that from. I can’t do my own hair let alone hers.
She loves herself. She has the confidence of ten people. She’s in chorus and she sings and does the hand gestures and she loves it.
She picked out her birthday outfit. (Not surprising since she’s been choosing her clothes and dressing herself since before she was two.) The funny thing this morning, however is that my Kindle does this thing where it shows and highlights the pictures from one year ago today. It turned out that she picked the exact same dress. She’s taller and her hair is longer, and it all works perfectly.
She also picked out her birthday cake last night and watched as the bakery clerk wrote her name in pink frosting across the whipped white base. She knows what she wants for dinner, and she’s going to absolutely love her two presents. I can hear her squeal of delight in my head right now, and she’s not even here.
It’s not that she’s the best of me, she’s the best of her and she makes me want to be the best of me too.