See A Penny...

My daughter is five years old today.

My daughter is five years old today.

I grew up simply assuming I would one day be a mother. In college, the more I thought about it, the more the idea frightened and disgusted me by turns, and I decided I wouldn't make a very good mother, that I never wanted kids. When Matt and I married, we didn't want kids. I don't really know what changed our minds, and I do occasionally miss the simplicity of the childless life, but I wouldn't trade Penny for anything. I fell in love with her as soon as I saw her cloudy baby eyes and that soft cap of dark baby hair.



My daughter is five years old today.

Early in my pregnancy, I was convinced I was having a boy. Matt was convinced I was having a boy. KT was convinced I was having a boy. So when we went to our second ultrasound in April, I was stunned by the tech's cheerful chirp: "It's a little princess!"

Well, fine, okay. Girl. Girls are cute! But we didn't want Penny to feel bound by her gender, or pressured into gender roles. We painted her room blue, and happily dressed her in gender-neutral and even "boy" clothes. Everyone who mattered knew she was a girl, and to heck with everyone else.

So naturally, it didn't take long for her to decide that her favorite color was pink and that she prefers dresses to pants.



My daughter is five years old today.

Babies are cute, but it's around 18 months or 2 years old that kids really start to be fun for me. They're walking and talking and absorbing everything around them like a sponge. They can play games and communicate their desires and act independently.



And every year has only increased my appreciation and awe. I never expected her to be so... unique. She copies the people around her, but then merges all the different things she copies into a whole that is only... Penny.



She's girly -- she loves pink and jewelery and dresses and flowers and sparkles.

She's a tomboy -- she loves comic book superheroes and splashing in puddles and wrestling.

She's a brat when she's mad, stamping her feet and glaring and clenching her fists in fury, slamming doors and throwing toys. "I'm not going to be your daughter any more!" she growls.

She's love personified when the mood takes her, flinging herself into our arms, tickling her brother's chin to make him laugh, or writing love notes for her family and friends. "LOV MOMMY" says the note on my monitor at work.



My daughter is five years old today.



Happy Birthday, Penny. I love you.