My baby is no longer a baby. She’s past toddlerdom. She’s a little girl. My baby is now a little girl. She’s 4. Four is officially the “little girl” age because it’s the year she starts school. Fingers crossed, it’s the year she stops using Pull Ups. It’s the year she’ll learn to write the alphabet. She’ll learn to ride a bike. She’ll learn her phone number and maybe her address. She’ll learn about Stranger Danger and about making friends.
She’ll go on her first big family trip. She’ll meet Cinderella, her long-time hero. She’ll meet Mickey and Minnie and ride her first big ride.
If at all possible, she’ll grow more and more beautiful. She’ll get taller, her feet bigger, her hair longer.
She’s my little girl, but she’ll always be my baby.
Today was my baby’s birthday. She wanted to wear her hair in a side ponytail because a straight-back pony is sooo Age Three.
Eirinn’s final decision on Theme was Mickey Mouse. Had to do Disney. Did Princesses last year. We don’t duplicate in this house. Mickey it is. It didn’t really matter what the Theme because anything goes with my punch and my punch is always invited.
As per usual, my mom and sister made a gorgeous cake. Of course, I had to have a hand in the design, but the construction and assembly was all them. Only this year they had a helper – Eirinn made the cake (mostly) herself. She was fantastically proud and made sure everyone knew that she didn’t just pick out the flavour, she made it herself.
This was the last birthday party I could get away with not having a house full of screamy little girls. That makes me sad. Not because “woe, the passage of time…”, but because “woe, I already have two screamy little girls, I need a house full of them like I need a hole in the head.” So I enjoyed this one.
My prediction is that next year won’t be the same. But for this year, I enjoyed Eirinn’s special day. I hope she did, too.
My Little Girl.