In the middle of scouring dirty bathrooms, I break to check on her, when she’s quiet, that usually means trouble. Seasoned Mom’s know this well. She is quiet, but this time, it’s not because she is unpacking my make-up bag behind the couch. She has not snuck off to the corner with the buttery Ritz crackers to feast unseen before dinner. She is looking at books on sisters big bed.
In her princess dress, she leans over bright illustrations of silly dinosaurs, and I make a mad dash for my camera. I was fast enough this time. I caught her. Through the tiny window of my viewfinder I see her glowing in the morning sunlight, and I have to breath deep to fight back the tears. She is my last. The baby of all of my babies.
She makes me move fast and sit long and hold still. We nick-named her “Hurricane Phoebe” because she is a whirlwind of activity, never slowing, allowing nothing to hold her back or slow her down- She is two years young today and yet in the short distance of time she has changed so much. We brought her home this season, 2 years ago, in her pumpkin knit cap and her milky-pink skin. She was the smallest of the four, and we all instantly adored her.
My Phoebe Anne. What a treasure we have in you. What a blessed little sprite you are. How blessed are we who get to grow with you and watch you grow…
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1:17
I took this video the other night of my baby girl singing Jesus Loves me with me before bed. This is the new routine. I feel pretty confident that there is nothing as sweet as this sound wafting up to the halls of heaven. These are the moments. The stuff that makes everything else, all the noise of life, seem insignificant and lack-luster. Happy Birthday, Baby girl. We couldn’t love you more.
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