Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Esther's turning 7 this week. Trying to explain how this makes me feel without resorting to a long string of cliches (even that is a cliche) is pretty challenging.
To think that I spawned this little creature, so fat and jowly, and oh my goodness all that hair, after enduring only 9 solid months of sheer misery is pretty cool.
That's it? That's all I can come up with: pretty cool?
Sometimes when she's not looking, I examine her face; scrutinizing, searching for something familiar. I often come up empty.
Where did she come from? Who is she? Is that my my mother in there? Her cousin Joanna? The only part of her I recognize is her nose. Her nose--the way it slopes down her face like an Olympic ski jump-- now that I can claim. Oh, and her tendency towards impatience and irritability? Yeah. I guess I recognize that as well.
The rest of it seems to be all hers. And it all suits her, really.
She's her own girl, that Esther. Happy Birthday, Possum.
New posts over at Momformation, here and here.