After the fourth month of my pregnancy with you, I started sleeping in our guest room- and I use the term sleeping loosely. Very loosely. For hours on end, I laid awake in our old, lumpy, and uncomfortable bed. As I tossed and turned, random contractions caused by tiny elbow jabs and what I can only imagine were little dance steps kept me wide awake. It always amazed me that someone so small could make their presence so known.
When I held you for the first time, I couldn't speak. I was shaking-from labor, from excitement, from love. I studied your hands (long and dainty) and your hair (brown and curly). I double checked to confirm that you were really a girl, then I triple checked. My first words finally fell out of my mouth long after you were placed in my arms-" You're beautiful," I whispered in your ear. I was in awe that someone so tiny could be so captivating.
When you were a baby, I spent hours quietly nursing you in the dark while Daddy snored next to us and Tyson slept soundly down the hall. I had so much time to think as we sat there-it wasn't often quiet with a newborn and toddler running around. I thought about the way you already had Daddy wrapped around your little finger and the way Tyson loved to make you laugh as you bounced in your excersaucer and how I just couldn't believe that someone so small could make our family feel so complete.
When you were just shy of a year old, we took you out to eat with your Auntie Katie and Uncle Ryan. You wore a jean skirt and striped leggings with a matching headband that was way too big for your tiny head and some bedazzled tennis shoes that totally made the outfit. You stood on your highchair, tight grip on my hands, and made some sort of dinosaur noise while smiling and waving to the other diners. I watched as people waved back, as waitresses stopped to "talk" with you, as strangers turned and smiled. I didn't realize someone so small was capable of lighting up an entire room.
When you first learned to talk, you named your lovie "GetThat", which couldn't have been more appropriate. "GETTHAT!" you yelled constantly, and, of course, we happily obliged. When you were eighteen months old, you discovered you could delay running errands with me if you needed a diaper change. "I'm STILL pooping!" you would yell when you didn't want to leave the house. When you moved into a big girl bed, you repeatedly asked me for "another tisss and hug" as I tucked you in knowing full well it was a request I just couldn't refuse. I'm still shaking my head and trying to figure out how someone so young is outsmarting me nearly every day. As an aside. I'm also trying to figure out how to curb this behavior by the time you reach your teens.
When you wake up tomorrow morning you will be 3. You will no longer be small or tiny or even young in the eyes of the world, but I can guarantee you'll still make your presence known. When you tiptoe into our room, bright and early with a huge smile on your face, I will still think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. At your birthday lunch, waitresses will still stop to talk with you-other diners will wish you a happy birthday-you'll still light up the room. I was planning on treating you to cupcakes OR ice cream for dessert, but you'll probably outsmart me and wind up getting both. And when I tuck you into bed tomorrow night, I will still marvel at how perfectly you complete our family.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, crazy, little Mimi.
I love you more than words.