Sisters

When the Punkin’ came home from the hospital, we felt it necessary to tell our older girls how fragile she was. Sultry Husband talked to them about it, and drew a comparison to an egg. He talked about the shell of an egg and how it was fragile and could be broken easily. I must admit that later on, when one of the girls was getting a little rough with Punkin’, SH yelled from across the house “She’s an egg, an egg, AN EGG!” I laughed for ages.

I thought for sure, as Punkin’ got a little older, the older siblings interest would wane a little. Not so. If anything, they are more interested in making her laugh and smile. I often have to pull L away because she gets a bit over bearing.

The other day, I started rummaging in my old picture files. Looking for anything I may have forgotten to use, and I ran across some pictures of L when she was Punkin’s age. Wow. I couldn’t believe the similarity. Yes, I know that they are sisters, but I swear they look like they could have been twins! Here they are…

Punkin’

L at 9 months

Can you see the difference? Slight though it may be… And now, just because I can’t resist my little bald smiley thing, a picture of M at 9 months to round things out. How could we ever question whether these three are sisters?

My favorite age.

When she was born, I told myself that this was my favorite age. I loved to snuggle with her, cuddle her, and just hold that newborn goodness.

A few months later, as she started to smile at us, I said, now this is my favorite age. We could interact, and she seemed to recognize us.

When she started sleeping mostly through the night, I said, this must be my favorite age. I felt more myself and things just felt magic. She began to keep the Binky in her mouth by herself and continued to develop and round out physically. Surely, things couldn’t get better than that.

At seven months, she began to kick and splash in the bath. Resulting in my feeling like I was taking a bath too. I was sure that seven months was my favorite age. She enjoyed the “Johnny Jump Up” and her swing was pure magic.

Now, at almost nine months, she is at my favorite age. She babbles and makes the beginning sounds of words. Rolling from one end of the living room to the other, I have to be careful about what is on the floor. Everything and anything ends up in her mouth. She screams with joy and kicks her feet when I come in the room. Such pure unadulterated happiness. Yet the words on her bib as she stuffs bread and cheerio’s into her mouth seem so true “Feed me, and I will let you sleep.”

Surely this is my favorite age.