seven

Seven.

Seven, seven, seven, seven.

I thought maybe if I kept saying it, it might start to feel a little less strange.  A little less like we are half way to the teens.  A little less like we are beyond all things baby girl.

Nope.

No matter how many times I write it, say it, hear her little lady voice exclaim it, seven sounds like seven.

She's lost all baby fat (except for the cheeks that I hope never go), there are adult teeth in her mouth, and by golly she's almost as long as I am.  She likes to talk on the phone and reads to me now.  She has friends and sleepovers and loves to dance.

It's been a big year for her.

I know that we all say this at every birthday, but she changed so much between 6 and 7.  She's such a sweet girl.  Always eager to lend a helping hand.  She started writing me little love notes that leaves on my nightstand.  Her tiny words on tiny paper tell me that she has these big thoughts and feelings and she can express them.  Very cool.  Very scary.

She loves crafts.

No, like, she loves crafts.  In the past year we have gone through forests of construction paper and more glue bottles then I can count.  She constructs couches and beds and table runners for every holiday.  They cover the floor of her room and fill her heart with pride.

She's beautiful.

Really, really beautiful.  Outwardly it's obvious, but inwardly it's just as loud.  She loves her friends and family and wants to make other people happy.

And she's our baby.

Even if she is,

Seven.

Happy Birthday Josie Kathryn.  

You make us so happy.

 (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)