Who’s That Lady?


She’s four. My girl is FOUR. I don’t blog nearly as much about our adventures as I used to because at some point over the past four years the baby in my belly became her whole own person, and I became my whole own person once more. 

Gone are the days when Dee and I were attached at the hip. Gone are the days of the girl and I being each others sole companions. In their place are school and activities, and afternoons with Mema, and on my end work and ambition and human interaction that keeps me sane. Those early days proved to be fleeting, and already I find myself longing for the opportunities that were washed away by time before we had a chance to seize them, my baby and me. And yet somehow this new version of life, the one where we spend our mornings and evenings desperately trying to keep pace with a mind that’s growing so fast we’re afraid if we blink we might miss it, is even more enthralling than the phase we’ve left behind. I’ve got a partner in crime, a devil’s advocate, and a creative sounding board where two thin purple lines used to be.

There are days where I literally can’t believe it. The thought that this complex little person grew from THIS in such a short time. The day we found out we were having a girl was the day we named her Delilah George. And a Delilah George she is indeed. Fierce and independent and smart as a whip but perhaps most importantly of all, a cuddlebug and one of the most affectionate balls of love we could ever have dreamed of.  Oh, she’s got her daddy’s temper, opinions for days, and the sarcasm is strong in her — we’re undoubtedly in for a hell of a ride come teendom — but it makes her all the more her and all the more ours. 

Yesterday was her fourth birthday, and I got to spend the entire day with her at school, just watching this confident little girl in a world that’s all her own. I got to run around like a crazy person making sure her day was perfect and not worrying for a second about what my own day was shaping up to be. It’s the best gift she’s given me in these four years — something so wonderfully important it makes nothing else matter: Being her Mom.

Feed Me Seymour