My baby is 6 years old.
We gave her gifts as expected. She ooo-ed and ahhh-ed over the scuba gear that she begged for. She jumped up and down about her Elsa get up. But, I think her favorite gift of all, the one she will remember long after the fake chiffon is ripped to shreds and the plastic snaps into pieces is this…
Everyone at the table gave her the gift of one word to describe her now that she’s 6.
Spunky.
Creative.
Fearless.
Cheetah-fast.
Fast-as-a-spaceship.
Brave.
Sweet.
Fantastic.
Adorable.
Playful.
Melting with every word uttered, at the end, as a gift to herself, she called out her own three words to describe herself.
Special.
Good.
Beautiful.
No one cared that a few gifts didn’t arrive in time and that Lydia didn’t even like the cake she insisted I create for her and ended up with a bowl of vanilla ice cream instead. This was the best birthday celebration this family has ever shared.
Truly.
Really.
Seriously.
I’m pretty sure she went to bed with sore cheeks from smiling too much. And, maybe I did too.
