Happy Birthday Big Girl, And by Big I Mean ...

My baby is turning 7 today. Happy Birthday Baby.

We call her Glowie, cuz the light coming off this kid will blind you. Fortunately we don’t call her TalksAllTheTimeWithoutStopping cuz that wouldn’t be as charming.

When Glowie was born, we loved her and cooed over her. I nursed her (adotptive breast feeding – that is a separate blog that hasn’t been written yet, but we’ll all need COCKTAILS) and her older sister, Blondie began to love her.

Secretly however, her Dad and I made a lot of jokes about our little Cone Headed Baby. When she was three weeks old it turned out that wasn’t so funny.

Terrifying in fact.

Glowie had a double craniosynostosis. You know, the kids with the big flat brow, or the kids with the flat head on the back or one side? Our kid had a pointy head, sorta out of the top and the back. And if we didn’t “correct” it, her brain would not be able to grow.

By correct it I mean they cut her skull into puzzle pieces, put plates in her head, put the puzzle pieces back on, and sewed it up. Oy, yoy, yoy.

Recovery is horrific (Her little face swelled her eyes closed), I had to quit nursing her (there was NO moving this kid), I slept on the floor of the hospital, loaded on vicodan cuz I had a herniated disc and needed my own surgery.

Then two years in those little helmets you see on kids – with the tinkerbell shit painted on them. Three years of early intervention therapy: speech therapy, physical therapy, cognitive therapy. She was so tiny and fragile we had to have her panties altered to fit her.)

And then magic. We got a magic wand in our family. Cuz all this fucking therapy, and her big sister falling apart somewhere along the way, and 100% will and devotion, and God’s grace, this little teeny tough, misshappened headed baby sprung alive.

She is pure joy. She knows the name of at almost all of the 700 children at her elementary school. We can’t get out of the playground when the bell rings there is so much hugging and kissing going on. (Really, for God’s sake, save something for your teen years.)

She is 7 years old and weighs 30 pounds. She wears high heels everywhere. When she thinks I’m not looking she puts tissue in her leotard and admires her girlie figure in the mirror.

She dances ballet and jazz. She is the tiniest kid on the stage. And not the best dancer. (I am afraid to type the truth in case she ever reads this. Okay, not a great dancer. But dammit, she waves better than any of those other full-size children.)

She thinks she is going to be on America’s Next Top Model. Possibly next year when Tyra does the 2nd Grade Version. (That is coming right?)

She is beautiful with big brown eyes and wears giant glasses. The day she showed up to Kindergarten in glasses every kid in the class wished they had glasses too.

She may not be able to knock you down, but she will wear you down. She can hike a couple of miles (and never stop talking), she can run at full speed for 16 hours and never waiver. Unlike Mom – I need frequent rest stops. (Did I mention the part about how she never Shuts Up?)

She is smart and a pain in the ass. She loves the sound of her own voice. She would like someone to be interacting with her every second of the day and night. And sometimes I feel guilty for praying to God or SOMEONE to just SHUT HER UP FOR A FUCKING NANOSECOND BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND. Cuz we paid a lot of money for all that speech therapy. Who knew?

She can pee by the side of the car, without flinching (we call it a wild wee) and yank up her big girl panties and move on to the next adventure. She is pure joy, with a bizarre sneaky laugh, who is just a normal 7 year old who worships her big sister and nutella. But there is nothing really normal about our little Glowie. Cuz every effing day this kid reminds me to LOVE LIFE and LIVE MAMA LIVE!

What’s our next Adventure Mama? Huh? Huh? Huh? (God Help Me.)

Happy Birthday Baby.