FIVE

My daughter, as of today, is five years old. I’ve been married for seven and a half years so it shouldn’t SHOCK me that I have a 5 year old, but it does. FIVE?! I mean, when did THAT happen? I’m sure I’ll read this post in ten years and think, ‘Oh, please. FIVE shocked me? Ha. Try 15!’

Anyway, my husband and I sat on our couch last night and we thought about our little birthday girl. My husband started reminiscing about the night before her birthday, when I was admitted and induced.
“Come here,” he reached out to our daughter, “Let’s talk.” He gently put his daughter on his knee -her big, innocent eyes stared up at him.
“Did you know that 5 YEARS ago RIGHT NOW Mommy was in the hospital and you were trying to get out of her belly?” Lacy only smiled back, so my husband continued, “A week before you were born, Mommy and Daddy went to the hospital because Mommy was having some pains. They put us in a bed overnight and told us that Mommy’s blood pressure was much too high, and that she needed to rest. We went home and Mommy rested all week, and then we went back to the doctor. Mommy had been keeping track of her blood pressure and writing it down. She gave the paper with all of her blood pressure stuff on it to the doctor and he was worried. He said that Mommy’s blood pressure shouldn’t be that high if she was just at home resting. He said he wanted to check Mommy, so he did and he said that it was time to go to the hospital and have a baby.”
Lacy smiled again, her bright eyes still locked on her Daddy.
“We went into the hospital and we called Grammy and Papa and Grandpa and Grandma and we told them, ‘It’s time!’ and they all drove to the hospital to be with us.”Yes, that IS the 6-hour “Pride & Prejudice” playing on the telly.  I packed ESSENTIALS in my hospital bag, man.  On a side note, Lacy was born to the sounds of Mrs. Bennett barking complaints to her daughter for NOT marrying Mr. Collins.  Somehow the background chatter soothed me as I pushed.  My sweet mother in law tried turning it off (and rightly so because, let’s face it, that woman’s voice can be grating) and I panted through my pushing to leave it on.  Silence, it seems, makes me more nervous than chaos.  Anyway:
(Our first nurse just happened to be named “Gayle” which is not only MY middle name but our on-the-way daughter’s middle name as well!)
Dad went on:
“Mommy had a really hard time getting you out. She would push and push and the doctor would say, ‘I see her hair!’ and then you would go back and hide in Mom’s belly again. You would come up… and then slide back… and then come up… and slide back.”
At this point, I was grimacing. They say you eventually forget labor… ha. ha. ha.
“Then a nurse took a towel and told mommy to PULL on it while she pulled on the other end. So Mommy did, and THEN you came out!”
Lacy grinned from ear to ear. Daddy was started to get a little emotional as he told her about the first time he saw her.
“The doctor let me cut your cord, and then he handed you to Mommy and I was so happy to see you. I just wanted to hold you forever.”

“You looked up and Mommy and you just stared at her for a long time.”

“That night, it snowed and all of the nurses said that you brought the snow with you.”

“I was really scared to drive you home with snow all over.”
“Where did I go in the car?” Lacy asked, speaking up for the first time.
“In your little tiny car seat,” he replied. “We put you in the back and Mom sat by you and we all drove home together. The next day, Daddy had to leave for a long time because of work and he didn’t want to go, but he HAD to. But Lacy…” my husband looked straight into her eyes, “I love my job, but I wanted to give it up FOR YOU. YOU are more important to me than my job and I love you so much. We’re so glad you’re in our family.”

He was still locking eyes with her, and she looked back at him. It was such a sweet, tender moment.
And then.
“I needa poop,” she said, hopping off his lap and running into the bathroom.
We went from being sentimentally touched to rolling with laughter. Ah, kids.

This morning she got to pick what we had for breakfast, and we had waffles. Her Grammy sent her an apron (and TWO matching hot pads) in the mail for her birthday. She opened it and said, “Oh, MOM! My Grammy is just SO SWEET!” And she used it to serve dinner last night.

Then she put it on first thing this morning so she could make waffles. I have to say: all I did was measure the ingredients. She dumped them. She mixed them. She poured the batter in the waffle iron. She closed it. She STARED at the iron until the light went off. She YELLED at mom, “It’s OFF! It’s OFF!” and Mom got the waffle out, and she went at it all over again. SHE made those waffles, folks. For her birthday, she wanted nothing more than to cook.

Yes, she was “popping” those eggs when I took the picture. Yes, she did a PERFECT job. No, there were no shells. Yes, the yolks were intact.
Until she beat them, that is.

She made a Lacy Specialty: pink chocolate chip waffles.

As they cooked, we planned Lacy’s party. It shall here be mentioned that we do not currently have any gifts for our daughter, nor did we plan a party. I expect you to judge me for it.
I asked her when she wanted her party and who she wanted there, and then… an idea hit home with her.
“I want EVERYONE to come and they can all eat my waffles!”
Oh… oh man. And so it goes: we will be having a waffle buffet on Friday night. Chef Lacy will be presiding.
And for those of you who are really concerned for the whole “gift” situation, I’ll put you at ease: we’re going shopping as a family tonight AND her biggest gift is impossible to wrap up and give.
She wants to go ice skating. The nearest ice skating rink is over an hour away, so we’ll be taking her on a later day. I really wish I was better at skating so it would actually be a good experience for her. As it sits, she’s going to have her ideal skating experience smashed. on ice.

We’ve come so far from the little girl who cried 7 hours a day:

To a feisty one year old who got into ev-er-ee-thing:

To a two year old who never left anyone in doubt as to her personality:

In the words of Josh Turner, “My little darlin’ is a fire cracker.”
We now interrupt this program to bring you your daily dose of absolute cuteness, compliments of The Boy circa early 2009:

Melt. My. Heart.

Before we knew it, Lacy was three. By the time she was three, she was SO HAPPY to finally be able to really put her learning skills to use. Her entire life, Lacy has not been content to just sit. She loves to get her hands on things, to find out how they work, and to do it ON HER OWN.
Which is usually fine.
And usually memorable.
And only sometimes makes me want to pluck my hair out (see the post about laundry detergent below).

That was the day she made “Bad Guy Cookies” out of crushed Club crackers and (you guessed it!) flour.

I can’t believe she’s not four anymore. She’s still four to me.

That’s my girl in a nutshell. If she isn’t looking cute, she’s coloring. If she isn’t coloring, she’s cooking. If she isn’t cooking, she’s digging up worms in her Easter dress.
Ah, my love.

Eight more months of having her all to myself before the school system pries her from my loving arms.
Until then…