My Girl

Betsy, you are 3 today. Time has indeed flown.

I want to apologize that your birthday seems so jumbled this year. I'm sorry that your special day happened to fall in the middle of Daddy's trip to Shanghai, Mama's work deadlines, your brother's first illness in 6 months, and trips to the shop for both cars. You should know that your birthday has been the bright spot in the midst of all the craziness. I'm sure you won't remember the chaos, but I hope you will remember helping me make your Pinkalicious cupcakes. I will always remember the satisfied look on your face this morning when we sang Happy Birthday to you at breakfast, as if your moment had finally arrived. Then you told us to sing it again, louder.

I wonder how much you will remember about your time in China. You did spend almost half of your life so far there. The other day you said "Bu ke qi" but that is probably more Ni Hao Kai Lan than DingXiang Lu. I sometimes think that while you didn't learn Mandarin, you learned another skill -- flirting until people give you what you want. You are shameless. Even your 90-year-old great-grandfather isn't immune. He held you all through lunch on Sunday and fed you like a baby, just because you asked him to.

Girl, you are Personality Plus, which is why it is so funny when you try to act all shy and timid -- we all know that you'll be introducing yourself and showing off your shoes within 30 seconds. (And you do love your shoes.) I was all set to have you start ballet this fall, but I'm a little afraid of what an additional spotlight will do to your fragile ego. ;-) You are so funny and so charming that it is hard to keep from giving you everything you want. Your daddy wishes that I would try harder at that.

You love school, even more than I thought you would, and you love acting out what happens each day. You get so animated when you teach us the songs and the prayers, and especially the rules. You love to sing, even if you do find a way to fit the words "I am a princess" into any tune you hear. (Most recently it was to Jesus Loves Me, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and Puff the Magic Dragon.) And to you, anyone in a skirt is a princess -- except me. ("You are not a princess. You are just Mama.") You desperately want to join your brother on the soccer field, but we do wonder how much of that is that you want to play soccer, and how much it is that you want to wear the pink shin guards and bows like some of the girls on his team. You love pink. Pink is your signature color. This makes your Nana laugh.

Your confidence is hilarious, and a little scary. Very early on Friday morning, I got up to take Daddy to the airport. Like, really early. Your G was at the house, but you didn't know that. While I was gone, you had an accident and came to my room to find me. I wasn't there. Daddy wasn't there. This didn't faze you in the slightest. You just went back to your room and woke up your brother, and you all played until I came home and found you, jumping on the air mattress in the dark. You didn't even question why your parents weren't there. Why are we paying for babysitters?

You are starting to get a little more "discerning" about what you're willing to eat, but if there is a noodle involved, you are always the first one at the table. And you will do just about anything for "yurt" (dessert). I do wish you'd actually eat the Chick Fil A that I order for you -- it would give me much more of an excuse to go there. Your favorite shows are Backyardigans, Ni Hao, and Super Why. Your favorite books are Pinkalicious, Ten Little Ladybugs, and You Are My Mother, especially when Daddy does the voices for all the different animals. You would go to the park every single day if I'd let you, and your favorite toys are your dress up clothes, your baby doll, and trains. I absolutely cannot wait to give you your new kitchen on Saturday. Ask Daddy. Actually, ask anyone. I've been talking about it for two years. Please, please like it.

Your brother is your favorite friend, your advisor, your partner in crime. You know how to push all of his buttons and how to get him to do anything you ask. He torments you by telling you that your name isn't Betsy, but Elizabeth. Which you can't say -- it comes out "Lithbuh", making it even more hilarious when you stomp your feet and yell, "My name is Betsy! Not Lithbuh!" You also love to tell me that you are not a baby, you are a girl. And then my heart breaks into a million pieces, because three really is much more grown up than two.

With that, my precious baby-who's-not-a-baby, I wish you the happiest of birthdays. May your sweet life always be full of pink.