Happy Birthday, Riley!

Nine years ago yesterday, we held our chunky bundle of joy in our arms for the very first time.  I remember thinking that I was prepared for parenthood.  Most of my tween and teen years were spent babysitting.  Diapers were no mystery to me, and I could prepare bottles one-handed. 

I soon discovered that no amount of practicing could prepare me for Riley.  She was (and is) a beautiful girl with bright blue eyes and a mop of light brown hair on her tiny little head.  I loved to run my fingers through that hair of hers.  In addition to her adorably cute features was her strong, volatile personality.  She could be as quiet as a mouse one minute and screaming the next.  She never slept, and wanted to eat every hour or so.  By three weeks old, she was colicky.  Great.  After a trip to the doctor and some soy formula, the colic worked itself out.  And eventually she transformed into a fairly mellow baby who would stare at bright colors and learn to talk by seven months old.

And not just mama and dada.  We're talking real words like kids and boom.  Sentences strung together by one year old and a vocab list of over 100 words by 15 months.  That old adage, "We spend the first year trying to make the kids talk, and the rest of our lives telling them to be quiet" seems appropriate.  The child even talks in her sleep.

Now Riley is nine, and I have loved every moment of being her mommy.  She tries my patience and tests her boundaries frequently and sasses me almost every time her mouth opens.  She loves fashion and beautifying herself.  Art is one of her passions.  Most days I want to pull my hair out.  But I try to remind myself of her tiny little newborn head, and running my fingers through that mop of hair.  I tell myself that God has entrusted this girl-child to my care because he knew I was the perfect mama for her.

Was I prepared for children?  Sure.  Was I prepared for Riley?  Not so much.  I'm still learning.  I hope she looks back on her life and knows how much she was loved, even though I wasn't a perfect parent all the time.  I hope she realizes that she will always be my baby.  My fussy little baby girl, the first to be held in my arms, and the first of my own to hear me sing a lullaby.

Nine precious years.  Happy Birthday, Riley Claire!