My middle child is the only girl out of my three kids and was a surprise from the beginning. Because my husband and I did not want to find out what we were having, I was convinced she was another boy. The afternoon I went into labor, at a Midwifery Center in Virginia, I had briefly achieved a moment of zen in a jaccuzi hot tub when I frantically said, "Get me outta here. It's time!"
Seconds after my daughter was born, my midwife said, "It's a girl!" and I said, "Are you serious?" Holding my little girl for the first time was a warm moment I will always treasure. Hours later... the crying began. For 9 months she pretty much cried. She had a brief window in the morning where she would be the sweetest baby in the world, but then around 2 p.m. Waa, waa, waaaaaa!
I would rock her and sing songs to her. I even changed up the lyrics of "Daydream Believer" by the Monkees from 'Cheer Up Sleepy Jean' to 'Cheer Up Nora Leigh'. Nothing worked.
Our doctor though it might be a couple different things. Maybe a dairy allergy. So I gave up dairy products while I was breastfeeding. (I never got back into drinking milk but my love affair with cheese certainly intensified.) Then we tried Zantac for possible acid reflux. Her crying lessened slightly, but not as much as we had hoped. We did not go out to restaurants in the afternoon, we limited social activities and when my husband came home on his dinner break, I would join in the crying.
But something happened around nine months that changed everything. She started walking! Her personality shifted from whiney baby to pleasant toddler. She smiled when she woke up. She was rarely sad. She was sunshine and sweetness and it made the months prior melt into a distant memory. I loved this little girl from the start, but I was thankful the tide had changed.
She never was really into dolls growing up and had a slew of favorite stuffed animal friends from a kitty to a turtle to a koala. I think my favorite Halloween costume was at age 4 when she dressed up like Diego, a male cartoon character who saved animals. It didn't matter that he was a boy. She wanted to be an animal rescuer with a backpack and she was the cutest one in town.
Now 13 years later, I look at this confident young lady. She is so much more personable than I was at this age. I was so timid and shy. (Nothing like I am now.) She is not afraid of going out there and getting it done and doing her best. During a recent Tamburitzan performance, part of her costume fell off, but she didn't miss a beat. She danced in her slip and owned it. At her age I would have frozen stiff on the stage unable to move.
Now she is a new member of her school's colorguard squad. Yes, she is tiny but she can twirl a flag like a boss. Even if she only does it for a year, the dedication and determination she has shone would make it worthwhile. Watching her socialize with this group of new and old friends makes my heart happy. I cannot wait to see what she does next.
So as we get ready to celebrate #13, on the same day her great-grandmother passed away eight years prior, I cannot help but feel a little sad. I wouldn't mind holding that miserable baby one more time just to whisper in her ear and tell her all the things she'll do once she stops crying. But instead of thinking about the past I'll try to celebrate all the things this little girl is and how her independence started from the moment she took her first steps. She's been walking toward her future since she put on a little pink pair of Mary Janes with a velcro strap, and has never looked back.
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