Happy Birthday Matilda.

 Took our baby doll out on a date to sushi and play time at the beach. 

 Matilda,

It's like I opened a can of soda and you shot right out. Bubbling and jumping and playing and singing and whining and talking and running. The sound of you echoes around the walls of my child-full home. A human can only be stared at for so long and I'm sure you'll start to get tired of it. For now, you don't know any better and the effort and happiness on your beautiful face is so contagious I am caught unaware and constantly find myself unable to physically let go of you.

You're squishy and think you are fast, but you still run like a toddler.

Sometimes you talk way too much and when my overworked cells try to synapse what you are saying over and over and over, I tell you to quiet down. And for a second I remember wondering what you'd be like. What gender you'd be, what hair you would have, how much your infant body would weigh and I just want you to talk on and I try very hard to listen better.

Force me to forget, my Matilda, how long the day seems and how tired I become as the minutes tick by.

Always take me to that place where you can wrap me up like you do your baby dolls... all day... and handle me as gently as you do them.

See in my eyes, in Daddy's eyes, how incredibly and vastly loved and adored you are.

Remember Ruby's hands gently cupping your shoulders each time you are hurt. I hope you can understand that all of these girls live for you. Hinge on being the one to make you laugh, cuddle with you, or get you what you need. Feel that esteem and bask in it.

Know that I often find Dad squished between you and the wall in your bed, reading you board books while you conk him repeatedly on the head with your elbow. He would do that forever. You consider him your personal servant.

Dearest, dearest little girl, you were absolutely our choice to bring up the last precious bit of our family. The little endcap, a most important feature in an already blooming garden of daughters. You are my snuggly reward, the berries on the cheesecake.

You're starting to get a few freckles and I wonder as I "hold you to beep" some nights, gazing down at your face, who you will be. Who you will love. I wonder about that year or two when the other girls may be out on their own and we get you to ourselves.

My little twin, I love you I love you I love you. Be my baby forever.

xo
Mama

Lillie turns 4.

Lillie,

You turned four in all your laughing, bubbling, emotional glory. My life journey with you is so completely different than the other girls. You challenge me every day. I have learned lately to stay a little calmer and see you. REALLY see you. Look deep into your eyes and try to listen and understand who you are. I have been defensive for too long and am ready to let you completely in. Even if it means having no control when you break down. My newest goal is just to love you with everything I have. To hold you even when I'm busy and stressed. To trust that that is usually what will patch up our day.

We have adopted your way of speaking in our house. Things like "Dawizzer it!", "I wuzz you", "Wet's do it togezzer", to name a few. You are particular about your hair, about the way your jammies fit, about how I lay the blanket over your body at bedtime. You like your cereal in a certain bowl, you have a thing for dolphins, and you are happy about our move to "Calissornia". Your binky-induced lisp is still very apparent.

You will talk to you anyone. Any mom, any dude smoking a cigarette, any lady at the store. You don't care where they've been or who they are. You will just walk right up with your little calf muscles flexed, tummy sticking out, and ask them what they're up to.

In some of your photos you are holding my hand, leading me, often to where I have never been. You pull me fast and you draw your breaths in deep and quick as you explain where you want to go in short spurts of excited language. Your back stiffens with ambition and your brow is tight and stressed. You have goals. And it's up to me to help you meet them.

When I'm not trying to calm you down, I find myself wishing I was more like you. You take life by the back of the arm, march it down the hall, and force it to do pushups. You spit in the face of those who try to take what's yours or tear you down. You fight for what you want no matter how much energy it takes, no matter how many people are in the room. I have rarely seen you give up. You only share because that is what is socially acceptable, not because you want to. You are made of a hundred yards of ribbon, some birds, a bull, several fragrant flowers, Hulk, some freshly burning firewood, a crisp juicy apple and a flash of lightning.

That's what you are to me, a conglomerate of emotion and strength and need and I love you with all my heart, my incredible little thing.

Happy Birthday,

Mama.