Yes, it’s time for another birthday post for one of my brood. I do technically have a brood. That makes me laugh. Anyway, my middle child turns four next week. I’m going to be straight with you, I think anyone in my family, caregivers and friends alike are breathing a collective sigh of relief. Lyla’s twos and threes have been . . . well, crazy. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see a “Hurricane Lyla” someday. It just fits. My girl is passionate and intense. She loves fiercely, she blows her top (and has been known to throw the occasional toddler-sized chair, a la penitentiary style); she is creative and wild, independent and free-spirited as they come. She’s funny; she’s sassy. She’s Lyla.

As we approach four, she seems to be calming . . . a little. As much as her crazy temper makes me crazy, I never want to break her spirit. I love her wildness. She’s always taking her hair down so that it’s blowing freely behind her as she runs to the next thing. That suits her. She’s my little charmer, easily wrapping every male in her life around her little finger, with the exception of her brother, of course.

She’s a dancer, an artist, a sing-song, a cuddler, a sister . . . my daughter. It’s hard to believe she’s four. I remember her baby days like they were yesterday. The baby with the most beautiful hazel eyes. And now she’s my big almost pre-K girl with the most beautiful hazel eyes and wicked little grin.

Lyla, I love you, you crazy girl. Happy Birthday.


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