Baby Girl

Oh, my Meghan Rose with your tantrums and your Polly Pockets and sparkly eye makeup.... you are a dichotomy of all things little girl. Your crazy hair, which I flatiron (I know... She's only 5 and we only do it on special occasions) and your scratchy baby voice and your hot pink faux fur coat. You pack a wallop when your brother gets in your business and you are the most sensitive little monkey if someone says something marginally hurtful. You get it. You always have. I think that's part of being the youngest of three.

When you were 2, you were pointing at the cd player, getting so frustrated at me asking over and over for "sanna tanna". I popped in about seven different holiday cds thinking you wanted Santa music. You balled up your fists and stomped you feet and finally made it clear to me that you wanted Hannah Montana, not Santa Santa.  Another time when you were about 3, we were at the library where there is a stuffed, life size Big Bird in the children's section. You asked me "Momma, who is that big bird?" "Ummmm. That's Big Bird." Nope, you had no idea, you missed the Sesame Street years, but you were still a baby.

Typical.. you are blowing out your sister's birthday candles.