I spent a good portion of the weekend looking for the perfect birthday present for the perfect 8-year-old.
I spent the weeks before the weekend trying to think of the perfect birthday present for the perfect 8-year-old.
This time eight years ago today, I was wishing the day would hurry up and go by so that I could get to the hospital and meet the newest member of my gang, the wonderful Aniele Leslie, my little Lurlene.
I held her sweet little self in my arms and the first thing out of my mouth was, “She’s perfect. Her head is perfect and round, like an orange.”
Two or three days after that, she flipped herself over, months ahead of schedule. She talked ahead of schedule in sentences, she skipped crawling and went right to walking, months ahead of schedule.
One night we were all having dinner and looked around the corner into the living room and she was perfectly balanced between the sofa and the coffee table, not even a year old.
We would go places, and she would run ahead of us, a tiny, beautiful, doll-like creature. People would stare and smile at her. We laughed with glee.
I take her to school a time or two a week, and before I leave, I always tell her, “Have a good day, little perfect.”
Because she is. She’s perfect. She’s funny and smart and beautiful and mouthy and kind and graceful.
Happy birthday, little perfect, and many, many more.