Maria

Maria has been commenting that I never share any memories from when she was little.  I knew this already.  I can hardly remember her as a baby.  Whether it was sleep deprivation, untreated PPD, or simply being in the Mommy Tunnel doesn't matter to her.  She wants to hear cute stories about herself as a baby.  Not the same old one about how used to cry if there was a breeze...or how she used to bang her head on the side of the crib to make her brothers laugh.

Maria, today I found these notes marked "2004" in an old scrapbooking bag.  I gave you the pens.  Here are your stories, some more recent:

Until you were 3 years old, you would not speak in public.

You have always wanted to do what your big brothers were doing, whether it was baseball, scooters, kindergarten, potty training or Harry Potter.  And because you are so mature, I often forget that you are two years younger.

Like the big boys,  you loved the pizza park at the National Zoo and always wanted
to spend the whole day there instead of going to see the animals.

When I was pregnant with Cecilia, you used to call her "pickle".  A few years later, Daddy took all of you to Arlington while you were there you said you wanted to be a nun and Cecilia did too.  "Don't you, Cecilia?" you asked.  "Yes!" she said.

Daddy didn't believe you and said that if you asked Cecilia if she wanted to be a pickle, she would say yes.  Then you asked her if she wanted to be a pickle, and she said "no."  This is notable because it's the last time you wanted her to do something with you.

Sorry, darlin', it took me 8 years to learn how to do your hair well.
This was not that day.

You have always had an affinity for mud.  And though you laughingly resent it, I think you secretly love it when the park ranger at Weymouth calls you "outdoor girl."

You love being the center of attention...sort of.

And finally, to remind you we have a date in 4 years to run the army 10 miler.  You often and with enthusiasm choose big projects.  My job to be sure you accomplish them!