I don’t know if you are aware, but Rosie will turn one whole whopping year old NEXT THURSDAY.  Holy meatballs. And now that I’ve typed that sentence I’m realizing: this is why I am sick!  My body is using its crafty wiles to create a feeling of misery to commemorate the way I felt this week last year!  Hey body, thanks for the memories! Jerk.

I plan on being snot-and-hack-free for the birthday shenanigans, and I also plan on smiling a whole lot. Because Rosie will have completed one whole trip around the sun, and anyone with kids can tell you that if you make it to the end of that solar journey with most of your faculties intact, you’ve got a hell of a lot to celebrate.

Plus, GAH.  She is adorable to the max.  I know, like your kid and yours and yours.  But no, for serious.  I have plans for a first birthday postravaganza, along with video (this is pending the efficacy of certain bribes to my brother to use his Mac. Did I mention that my brother is awesome?  Also, very handsome.  And tall! DEAR JOE, I CAN HAZ COMPUTER FOR SUM HOURZ?) but I need to just up and say this right now: Rosie rules. She is spunky, she is scrappy, she is hilarious, she is punk rock, she is beautiful. She will CUTCHEW if you take something from her, but she’ll also give real kisses, right on the mouth, complete with smacking lips.  Her devotion to Noah is unwavering, and DA is the first name on her lips in the morning.  When I come in a room she reaches for me, arms up and head flung back in joyful anticipation of the flight to my hip.  She sings along to sound, be it radio or vacuum, and she is fearless in ways that make me enormously proud and terrified at the same time.  She came into this world kicking all kinds of ass from the start, and I love every spiky hair on her head.

I know it seems like I have now brought total ruination upon the Birthday Post, as I clearly cannot help myself when it comes to waxing about my offspring, but FEAR NOT. I have paragraphs more where that came from.  And hopefully, fingers crossed, toes crossed, candles lit, voodoo dolls poked, some photos to accompany them.  Until then, just picture him with a much, much (MUCH) cuter face and the body of a chubby baby, and as a girl, and…oh forget it.  Just know: the Fro lives.


1 Dorothy { 10.20.09 at 9:25 am }

i really wish we lived closer – Rosie and Taylor are like twin kindred spirits. Just trade out “punk rock” for “sporty” and they are like the same kid a year apart. Of course, they may just get in a all out brawl and that wouldn’t be good.

I saw the pictures your mil posted on fb, and yes the fro totally lives on – it’s just uncanny.

2 Rachel D { 10.20.09 at 5:14 pm }

I love scrappy punk rock babies!

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