Sigh.....

Nineteen years ago today I woke up to a tiny pink bundle sleeping in the bassinet next to me. I had no idea whatsoever how much my life was fixing to change. I've learned the lesson that many who've gone before me learned -- parenting sons is completely different from parenting daughters. I've heard it said that no house is big enough for two women and there has been many an incident where I would have added a hearty amen to that. Exactly 19 years ago at 10:00 p.m. last night (May 9), Kaitlin Elizabeth (aka, Katie) weighed in at a hearty 8 lbs and 10 oz and was 21 inches long. She had blonde hair and blue eyes - neither of which she possesses today. Her eyes kind of change with what she's wearing - some days they're more green than blue. Her hair would still be blonde but she is currently sporting a brown/red color that looks very nice. Kaitlin came into this world a spitfire and has not changed. She took one look around and decided that from all she could see, no one else was as fit to rule as she was and so proceeded to order all events pertaining to her. This, as you might imagine, has resulted in more than one head to head confrontation. She's funny, she's loud, she's shy, she's a poet, a writer, a singer and as stubborn as a farmhouse mule. She's taught me that you can indeed love someone with all your heart and soul while at the same time wishing to banish them to outer Mongolia.

My very favorite memory of her is when she was just a little over two years old. We were walking to the football field which was across a park from our house at the time. I would take the kids with me and they would play in the sand pit by the long jump while I walked around the track. The boys had gone on ahead of us because we were too slow. Katie had to walk independently of course, without any help from me. She was noticing everything like two year olds do; and I was completely unaware of how precious this moment would be years down the road. I don't know what was going through her little mind at the moment that caused her to decide it was time to be a little less independent but that little tow-headed blonde doll looked up at me and said "Would you carry my hand, Mommy?"


We are, 17 years down the road, living in those same independent, "I will do it myself" days. I'm waiting, because I think it will happen, for the day when she turns to me and says again "Would you carry my hand, Mommy?"