My oldest daughter turns 6 this week.
6 years old.
It just sound so old… so, not a baby, not a toddler, not a preschooler, but a… girl. I spent some time looking back at pictures and videos this past year and I realized that 5 is a significant year. She grew up A LOT this past year.
She started school.
She learned to read.
She learned to add and subtract.
While we’re making him wait till the end of the month to savor his first taste of cake (at his party when his grandparents can be there to ooh and aah), we couldn’t let his day go by without some sort of yummy mess. Enter baby’s first donut for breakfast.
First, he ate each individual sprinkle off of the donut.
Then, it was time to ditch the hat, and tack a dab at the icing… again using his fingers to scrape it clean.
I love birthdays. No really, I mean, I LOVE THEM. And I’ll be honest, I particularly love MY birthday. As I kid I would start counting down the days till my birthday starting in January (right around my brother’s birthday). I can remember when Scott and I had been married about a year we were on vacation at the end of June. My birthday, as you now know is in mid July.