halfway to sixteen

Half asleep and holding a squirming baby while being toed in the face by an upside-down-sleeping preschooler, I was greeted this morning by my husband who reminded me that it's our older daughter's birthday. "Just think," he said, "she's halfway to sixteen."

The bed never seemed so inviting. I never, ever wanted to leave it.

Alas, the morning started whether I was ready for it or not, and the statement is true : today, Ibis is eight. Our blonde-haired, blue-eyed, havoc-wreaking little girl is eight years old. Eight. That's like officially not a baby anymore. Not a little kid. Eight is halfway to sixteen.

I can still recall when Ibis was a tiny baby. Okay, so tiny is a relative term. She was almost 9 and a half pounds and a natural delivery. I really never envisioned myself being the mother of anyone with blue eyes (and that's actually happened twice now) and find it pretty funny that we named her after a blue-eyed bird. 

Today, we will have cake and gifts. She ordered a buttermilk cake with raspberry frosting. Well, first she ordered an apple pie but decided last minute to go with cake. And I say ordered as though we drove to some bakery somewhere - the only person she ordered around was me. And I'm happy to oblige. Cake photos to come later.  We'll have a special dinner with family, and on Saturday she'll have a party with a few friends. 

I'm still not ready for that one.