Now, you are sprouting up into a little girl- it is getting harder and harder to find the baby in you. In the past year, you have matured. Last year, we couldn't call you Annie. You were Peter Pan or Pooh Bear- but never, ever Annie. Now, you've settled into your skin and revel being just who you are. You love having your own room, and will sit in your rocking chair, blasting Winnie the Pooh music and read your books. Yes, you are reading. You got to bring your worn out copy of "Fat Cat That Sat On The Mat" and read it to your class yesterday. You loved sitting in the teacher's chair.
You love to set the table. You love to hug your puppy. You love to cook with me. Your favorite game is to pack a pretend suitcase, and sit on the stairs- pretending it is an airplane. You will sit at the kitchen table, and write lists, or draw pictures when I make dinner. You love to go to the library and check out books (your Moffat's book is almost overdue, by the way). You still love to watch Caillou, the occasional Max and Ruby- but your new favorite show is about a dog named Kipper. You ride your bike for hours, with George trotting next to you.
You've become a real help with your sister. After you figured out you could get M&M's too, you were solely responsible for potty training Lucy last April. You learned to swim last spring- and look forward to starting up your lessons again soon. You started a new school, and quickly became the alpha-girl of the class. Sometimes I feel like I'm entering preschool with Elvis.
You are much more sensitive now- surprisingly, much more emotional. I'm still trying to navigate this with you, and truthfully, we have a long way to go before the hormones kick in at twelve.
Happy, happy birthday my girl. Five years feels like a nano-second, and truthfully, I can't remember what my life was like before you.