And Then We Blinked

February 23, 1996, 6:50 p.m. Seven pounds zero ounces and nineteen inches of complete perfection. You slept like an angel, ate like a champ and wrapped us completely around your tiny little finger. To say it was love at first sight would be an understatement.

And then we blinked.

Six months later you weighed considerably more than seven pounds. Your chubby little arms and legs were deliciously kissable, squeezable, and ticklish in all the right spots. Your personality had emerged, painting a fairly accurate picture of what our future with you would hold; giggle fits at the most absurd moments and temper tantrums to beat the band-a tiny tempest in a delicate little teacup.

And then we blinked.

A small person took the place of our easy-going infant. You had always been a team player; effortlessly blending into our lifestyle, traveling easily, accompanying me to work and never making it difficult for us to continue to do the things that we liked to do or that we had to do which, we appreciated all the more when we became a family of four and you were pressed into the duties of being the Big Sister; a role that you took to much like you took to swimming, effortlessly, enthusiastically and with the desire to exert more than your fair share of control (one could call it bossiness but, it’s your birthday and I am being kind).

And then we blinked.

Your march toward independence began at an early age; you had a clear view of The Way Things Should Be and you set your mind to getting there. You danced to your own drummer and one couldn’t help but wonder at the melody playing inside your head. One still does.

And then we blinked.

February 23, 2009, again, considerably heavier than seven pounds, zero ounces, in fact; this weekend you finally triggered the passenger-side airbag sensor in the SUV, a feat that left you proud and quite inexplicably excited. Your chubby little thighs and screw-on hands have been replaced with long, lean legs and gracefully long fingers. You resemble a fine filly more than the roly-poly caterpillar we once knew.

As you have changed and matured so, too, has the love we feel for you, evolving into the love that only a parent knows for a child; it is a mixture of awe and wonder, so strong that it squeezes the heart in its’ fist, controlling the very beat and, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

What comes next, we cannot guess. The person you will be a year from now, ten years from now, we can only immagine but, as our time with you this far has taught us; it will happen in the blink of an eye.

Happy birthday, Teenager.

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth but, that’s not your fault.