Four Fire

Three months from today, she'll be five.
Five.
Usually, I'd be weeping in my soy macchiatos over this giant looming milestone- but this time? I am excited. Excited for a new number, a new year, a new new.

About this time a year ago, my own Mama and I were talking about December and all its planned glory. She casually mentioned age four was easily the hardest she experienced for both my brother and I. I scoffed at her horror stories, knowing in my heart of hearts, my precious baby girl would once again prove the universe wrong by being the best. She was a rockstar newborn; perfect toddler; and delightful three-year-old. Four? In the bag.

In three short months, we're setting fire to four and spreading its ashes all over five and 2013. That's about the summation I can muster as a mother of a current four-year-old.

She's wicked smart. Fiercely independent and focused. Logical to a fault, and as stubborn as a gray mule. She looks just like her Daddy and acts just like her Mama ... she's the perfect storm. She's sarcastic and sneaky, sassy and dramatic. She doesn't forget and won't forgive. She's self-righteous and indignant and brave and beautiful and doesn't listen for shit.

She's my everything- my little blond tornado who will smack her head against her wall at night if she's not tired or interested in sleep. She sashays instead of walking. She makes you earn the right to be spoken to, or answered. She's hilarious and witty with perfect comedic timing. She has that rubberface my Mama's side of the family always seems to have. She's competitive and calculating never without her accessories.

She's a girl, alright. She's as girl as girl gets. She's making me earn motherhood, I guess you could say, finally. I've sailed up until this year, full of love and sleep and without protest. I wouldn't have it any other way- I've always maintained I love learning new things and stepping outside my comfort zone. It's baptism by four fire, that's for sure. One day she loves mashed potatoes and the next she gags when she eats them ... she keeps me on my toes and off autopilot.

90 more days. Let it ride.

And oh yes, Mama loves. Without question ...