A Daughter

At almost exactly this time nine years ago, I was in a hospital room in Greenville, SC eating pizza (yes at 11:00pm - I had been famished for hours) with my parents, my sisters (minus the one who was working in Romania at the time), my husband, and a brand new little person, just a few hours old. She was small (at a dainty but healthy 6lbs. 10 oz.) and perfect - she even came out perfectly clean, and had the sweetest, most perfectly shaped head. She was Aimee Perrine from the first - small, precise, in charge, and entirely sure of herself. She has sprouted into long limbs (where did those come from!?) and a sparkling (at times, fiery!) personality, and she is no less adored than when she first arrived, and even more so, in fact, as the brothers who followed her wouldn't know what to do without her. I love it when we ask the boys a question about something like what they're going to do when they grow up, and they immediately look to her for the answer. And it's sweet when she goes somewhere and they spend the entire time asking when she's coming home. She, of course, basks in this kind of adoration with self-assurance - and also with kindness (most of the time).

Happy Birthday, Aimee.