She is three now, my littlest.
She turned three on Saturday. She’s certainly not a baby of course, she’s just my last born child. She’s not my baby, she’s a big girl she reminds me.
She has her knickers, and big girls have knickers not nappies. She won’t wear a bib as it’s not a big girl thing to do and she thinks that her 5 point harness carseat is an insult compared to her big brothers’ high-back boosters.
She is delighted to be three. She’s been looking forward to her birthday for months. She was especially aggrieved that I had a birthday before hers. When her turn came around, on our way home every evening for two weeks before she’d squeal with excitement “I’m sooooo excited that it’s going to be my birthday”.
The cake was requested “Elsa with lots of icing and sweeties and colours inside”. Not too hard, given my legendary cheat this year. She wanted to help make it so she stirred. She wanted a bouncy castle and for “all” her friends to come and bounce. She invited lots of people but said that uncles couldn’t come because they were boys and it was for girls only. (She conceded on this, but took persuasion).
On the big day she woke expecting herself to have grown overnight, but had to make do with presents rather than bigger clothes. The compensation proved adequate and her requested “Dolly Highchair” and “new scooter because my brother broked mine” were very well received.
We had a party. Lots of people, lots of food, lots of bouncing and bumping. She greeted every guest, politely opened her cards first before tearing the paper off her presents. She gave genuine reactions that I wish I could bottle. Her joy at seeing a peek of the Frozen logo through a ripped piece of paper, a dress that she says “I just love this, it’s bee-uutin-ful”, a comment for ever. There was Elsa, Anna, Sven, Playdoh, jigsaws, book, flamingoes, dresses, sunglasses, a sparkly handbag shaped like a dog. Three year old girl heaven.
She partied hard, a sign shown by her asking for the toilet once in four hours, rather then once every four minutes. Like a bride on her wedding day, she wasn’t going to miss a minute of the fun.
She was the star of the show, the queen of the party. She played hard, made sure that every adult was dragged to the bouncy castle and said goodbye and thank you to all her guests. Pyjamas on she declared that she’d need “one last bounce before the man comes to take it away” and we all joined her.
Laoise is our breath of fresh air, our sunshine. Sure she can whinge with the best of them. but she’s mostly lovely. Strangers in the street comment that she’s in charge. She keeps us all in line, making sure that we stick to the way things should be and questioning any diversion from the normal routine.
She’s the one who serenades us with “Let it go” (the same two lines, over and over) Happily she got a doll that knows four lines and sings it over and over so that’s wonderful and adds to the household noise no end. But she loves it.
After the party she was so, so tired, but so, so happy. And I remembered that her birthday meant that I hadn’t been pregnant for three years, so when the cleanup was done at 11pm I opened a bottle of prosecco. (And learned the next day never to open a bottle of prosecco that late again.)
It was something that deserved celebrating.
She is three. My baby. No, my girl. My big girl.
FIRST ROUND VOTING in the Boots Maternity and Infant Awards ends on Sunday June 12th. I’m nominated in the Best Parenting Blog category and I’d really appreciate your votes to make it through to the next round. Voting is pretty straightforward, the easiest way is to click on the purple icon above. The Best Parenting Blog Category is in the right column near the bottom. Logging in through facebook is the fastest way to make your vote count.
Thanks so much!
