The birthday belle


This past week our daughter turned 4. Somehow she went to bed a 3-year-old semi-toddler, and woke up a 4-year-old little lady. I can’t quite explain it, but nearly instantly she seemed a bit older, more capable, and ever-so-slightly independent.
As most kids do, she started her birthday prep months ago. She would say, “When it’s my birf-day I want to have a rainbow, unicorn, horse sparkle party!” I smiled sweetly at her, and happily agreed to her big “birf-day” plans knowing we could probably pare them down more easily when the time came.
Once July rolled around she was well-aware her special day was coming up (albeit not for another four-and-a-half weeks), and the daily lightning-round questioning commenced.
“Mommy, is my birf-day coming up?"
“Mommy, how many more days until it’s my birf-day?”
"Mommy, is it my birf-day this week?"
“Mommy, is it my birf-day tomorrow?”
All these, and more were repeatedly asked day and night, until … it was here!
In the end, we decided to have a special lunch at the American Girl Store, with a family dinner later that night (unicorn theme of course). It was a small, but special, and we gathered as many of her favorite ladies as we could for a lovely little lunch. I was so proud to watch her greet everyone with giggles and hugs, and it warmed my heart to see how truly loved she felt on her big day.
I remember being pregnant and dreaming of the relationship I hoped we’d have one day. I couldn’t wait to hug her, snuggle with her, dress her up, and have a daughter of my very own. My mother is my rock, sort of like my due north. I look to her for guidance, and she’s freely given it for decades. She is a gentle, loving glow in my life and if I have an heirloom to pass onto my daughter, it’s that same unwavering love, forever and always.

Jordan Schupbach is a mother of three living in the Houston area. She blogs at - sharing the good, the bad and the frenzied.


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