My Girl

Today my beautiful, darling daughter Margaret Grace turns eight.

I'll try not to get too sappy or sentimental. But how can I not, really? Just look at that face.

Meg has always been determined to do what she wants to do. Some call it headstrong, others just say stubborn. For instance, in this photo, despite our gentle prodding to pick a riper specimen, she picks the greenest pumpkin in the patch. She didn't want an orange one. However, it does contrast nicely with her orange romper. Too much more orange could have been a disaster. She is my daughter after all . . . color is of the utmost importance.

 

Forever inquisitive . . . 

Always full of energy, she was never much of a napper. I think she feared she might miss something important.

Her boundless energy often got her in trouble. Here she is sporting one of two casts she had between the ages of two and three . . . while I was pregnant with her baby brother. Notice the hair in her face. She refused to wear bows or headbands. Always the non-conformist!

Unless the headband was part of a costume. And speaking of her baby brother Pierce, Meg is an excellent big sister. Always keeping tabs on him (even when he'd prefer to be left alone).

So, while she's still too young to decide whether she'll be an athlete . . .

 

a scientist . . . 

 a fashion designer . . . 

or simply a diva. We know she'll be the very best of whatever she chooses. Until then, we're just going to enjoy every milestone along the way.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Meggie. Please stop growing up so fast. My heart can't take it. 

 

Love for always and ever . . .

Mommy