Maggers Turns Three

Happy Birthday Maggie! Typing this today I am overwhelmed by the fact that you are three. It seems impossible that three years ago I was in a hospital bed, 5 cm dilated, 100% effaced with broken water and still not in labor. Thank god for pitocin, because once I got that, you were born in less than 40 minutes. One Push McCall should have really stuck more than it did. Oh well.

You are very proud of the fact that you are now “a big girl”. “I not a little girl Mama, I a big girl.” However, last weekend, after your repeated pleas to go into the bottom bunk of Owen’s bed and abandon your crib, this fact was put to the test. As you lay down in the bed and looked around, you eyes grew wide. You jumped out of bed, saying “Mama, I not a big girl. Look at me, I still little. I still very, very, very little. I go downstairs.” It was impossibly cute, and the best thing was when Owen was tearful that you would not be sharing a room, you said “Owen, I just not ready. I’ll be ready soon. I give you a kiss.” I don’t think anyone can argue that for a just turned three year old, you have a very good sense of yourself. You know what you want, when you want it. And this a very good quality, even if at times it borders on bossy, and, believe me, it does.


Recently, you were moved from the 2 year old class to the 2/3 class at preschool. There were some concerns that you might have a bit of difficulty, emotionally and academically. But you did extremely well, took it in stride like “a big girl” and caught up no problem. You are so smart. I try to stress this often since you also get a lot of “she is so pretty” comments. You are both, and I want you always to know that. And somehow, I don’t think you will forget.


Yesterday, I looked up famous birthdays and you share yours with Joan Crawford. And nope, I am totally not going to sugar coat it. You have a temper. Maybe not wire hangers in the closet temper, but close. Your Dad and I are thankful that you were second, I fear that if we had not had Owen first, we would cater to these episodes and make you a mini-megalomaniac. But unfortunately for you, we have been “through the shit” and we know when to walk away when a crazy eyed semi-psychotic toddler has a fixed idea. You will wail, howl, cry. All of this will not even cause us to raise an eyebrow, and when you realize this, which is often quick, you pick yourself up, huff on over and say, “I sorry. I need a hug.” Oh, by the way, you give the best hugs. They are full body in, arms tight across the neck, head firmly pressed against the chest awesomeness. And I am Boston Irish Catholic, we don’t ever like to be touched (except, when intoxicated), so yeah, best hugs.


Also, you just happen to have this older brother that you adore. I know at some point you will be reading this and say, “Oh my god, Mom. I SO did not like Owen.” But guess what? You did, and you do, you idolize him. You imitate what he does constantly, you demand his attention, which he thankfully gives (see temper). You love your brother, so, so much. And he you.


Maggie, you make me so happy. You make your Dad so happy. I can’t imagine my life without you and have a hard time remembering it without you. I feel so lucky, so blessed, and so overly emotional right now so I am going to stop before the waterworks come. My baby girl, my monkey, my little spitfire full of piss and vinegar I am sure to regret 10 years from now, I love you. Thanks for making my life so much better than it ever could be without you.

Love, Mama

P.S. Your singing is just sort of rad.