The Fabulous One

OK, so today is a really great day. The sun is shining, those Sparties kicked some serious Husky-butt last night, and I did not have to get up at some ungodly hour to run the shuttle to the soccer dome. Best of all, today is the Middle Chica's 9th birthday.

I know that it is uncouth and marginally negligent for parents to choose a favorite child, so I will merely state that MC holds a very special place in my heart. Her nickname is Fabulous, and it couldn't possibly be more apropos. She loves fairies and ponies and hamsters and princesses. She is a girly-girl, all sparkles and feathers, rainbows and doo-dads--the more the better. In short, she is the complete opposite of me.

My mad love for the Deuce did not start out that way. I found out I was pregnant with her on her older sister's first birthday, so to say she was a surprise is an understatement. I wasn't ready, and to be perfectly honest, I was not happy. I remember I actually took the pregnancy test stick thingy and whipped it at the head of the FM and then promptly burst into tears. In the end, however, my pregnancy went swimmingly well, and since I'd just gotten through the infant stage with Chica 1, I felt I was pretty ready for whatever came next. How wrong I was.

Middle Chica has to have been one of the most difficult newborns that ever graced this planet. First, she was huge--9 pounds 22 inches long--so all of the cutie little newborn things did not fit. Second, and related to the first, she ate ALL the time--every hour on the hour without fail, without respite. Third, the child never slept. I think she dropped off for about 45 minutes sometime during the fourth month, but other than that she was constantly awake. If you tried to put her down, she'd scream holy hell. I was so fried I had no idea which end was up. Ironically enough, despite the fact that she did not enter REM sleep until she was a toddler, MC was one of the happiest kids you'd ever care to meet. She smiled, and laughed, and jibber-jabbered, and was just an agreeable delightful child. She still is.

The Fabulous One is a dancer, and a dreamer, and a giggler. She is the kid who writes you notes that say "I love pizza, do you? Check yes or no." She is the kid on stage that goes left when everyone else goes right, and has no idea, she just beams that smile for miles. She loves to help me cook and play dress-up. She had to stop playing soccer because she kept chasing her own shadow, and it made her coach (me) crazy. She is a spontaneous hugger. When she was 3, the only thing she wanted for Christmas was "a brown baby," so Santa brought her 22 inch African-American baby doll that she named Binda, and to this day, she still goes absolutely everywhere with her. She digs in the dirt for worms and bugs, names them, and makes them fabulously decorated shoebox houses. When she was in Kindergarten, she slipped on some ice, fell and hit her head, and in the CAT Scan machine, she looked at the light, smiled and said, "Cheese!" Yep. That's my kid.

I think one of the reasons I love her so much is because she has exposed me to things I never would have experienced otherwise. Thanks to the MC, I now know how to sew ribbons on ballet shoes, and pin up a proper bun that will not fall out--I even landed a gig as a stage mom at the Nutcracker this year. I no longer have personal issues with the Brownies or the color pink. I've been able to let go of my expectation of report card perfection, and focus on the fact that she's not the best student, but she's steadily improving, and that is OK. She has shown me that being competitive isn't for everyone, that it is perfectly alright to just be. She makes me recognize the value and beauty of a simple gesture performed out of sincere love by an innocent soul.

So here she is, world, my Middle Chica. She is 9 years old today. I have no idea where she came from, but I'm awfully glad she's here.