Not Big Enough

Tonight is the last night I will put Tres to bed as a two-year-old. Tomorrow she turns three.

She fell asleep in the recliner, cuddled and warm, sweet. Sucking her thumb and wearing a tu-tu. So I lifted her into my arms and took her to bed.

Once we got to bed I tucked her in and pressed my ear against her chest, listening to her heart beat.

Thu-thunk, thu-thunk. Thu-thunk, thu-thunk.

I wondered how many times I’ve listened to that heart beat since she was born.

I came to my computer and re-read the note I wrote a few days after you were born. It made the bridge of my nose hurt with suppressed emotion. Three years ago I wrote:

“You are worth every contraction pain, every sore muscle, every emotional hormonally driven moment, every day spent in nausea, every uncomfortable moment of the last nine months, three weeks and four days.

You are more than worth it.”

And today, now knowing her and seeing her personality develop, I can say without a doubt, She is amazing! Tres is stubborn and funny and thoughtful and independent.

My third girl has a sense of humor that blesses everyone around, and an ability to stick to her guns that will pay dividends for her in the future as a leader. She is kind to her sisters (and spoiled by them!) and makes her brother laugh with joy.

I love that she put her flip flops on the wrong feet and, when I told her they’re backward, looked at me and said, “No, they not backward! They perfect.”

I love that this week she danced into the kitchen and announced, “I a big girl!” paused, held up a finger, wagged it, and said, “But not big enough!”

She tells stories in complete sentences, worries about coyotes, and loves Pingu. She’s tall, blond, and still practically perfect in every way!

And, as I said in the letter I wrote to her when she was days old… she blesses our lives. Now… and forever.

Happy birthday, dearest.