L is three! A birthday gallery of maternal sins (but mostly pride)

It's Wednesday.  Which means it's time for the Gallery.  But it's also 21st April 2010.  Which means that L, my amazingly wonderful eldest daughter, is three today.

Tara's challenge this week was Seven Deadly Sins. She said she wanted it to be tricky, and she was right.  I had no idea what to do for this one.  B suggested I find a stock picture of George Clooney and call it Lust.  This would have had the advantage of accuracy, but the disadvantage of not actually (sadly) being a picture I had taken.

But then I realised what the date was.  And it all fell into place.

So I give you L's gallery.  Or the sins I have committed, do commit, and will continue to commit for love of my daughter:


GLUTTONY

These are L's cakes.  We are postponing the actual party until Sunday, when B can be there, but clearly a birthday isn't a birthday without cake, so we are taking these along to our Songs and Stories group later on today.  I'm not entirely convinced by the home made Iced Gem look, but it was the best I could do with the rubbish piping nozzle I had.

Which leads me on to

ENVY

My friend K has a proper piping nozzle.  I want it.  In fact, if I'd been better prepared, I'm sure I could have borrowed it.  But I wasn't, because of

SLOTH

I have been woefully under-prepared for today.  I've known it was coming up (if had forgotten, L would certainly have reminded me), but I've sort of lost track of what date it is, and so it has slightly taken me by surprise and I ended up doing everything at the last minute. I'm not sure if that's laziness, but the state I let my kitchen get into, at about 9 pm last night, mid-way through 67 fairy cakes and one t-shirt certainly is.

The 67 fairy cakes may seem an oddly precise number, but was how many the mixture made. Probably would have been about 70, but I was eating it with a spoon.

Which probably should take me back to gluttony.  But that's not the sin I'm most guilty of today.  Today, I'm all about

PRIDE

I am so proud.

I am proud of my slightly odd cakes.

I am proud of the stripy t-shirt with her name and the three on it in flowery fabric which I also made yesterday evening.  Even if it's not the best one I've ever done, and I'm concerned that it may not hold together as the t-shirt is too stretchy and the fabric not at all...

I am proud that I actually managed to tidy up the kitchen before I went to bed.

I am proud of the things that matter too:

I am so proud that this time three years ago I was 10 days overdue and not even in labour.  And that by 11.52 pm I had brought a whole new person into the world and was holding my incredible daughter in my arms.  To be scrupulously  honest, I don't think I actually knew she was my daughter until the wee small hours of three years ago tomorrow.  They assumed we knew she was a girl, and we forgot to ask.

I am really proud that I did that all drug-free, stitch-free and mostly midwife free (she was out of the room until L was actually arriving. I panicked at that point - I think I'd forgotten I was having a baby - and thought I was having prolapsed uterus (apologies if you're reading this over breakfast).  The irony is I don't actually know what a prolapsed uterus is.  I'm not so proud of that bit.)

I am proud to have survived not just labour, but also exploding nappies, colic, sleepless nights, trips to South Africa, New York and France, tantrums, the arrival of two little sisters, potty training,  fights, strops and three weeks (and counting) of "why-eee?".

I am proud that B and I have produced this amazing person (does that count as lust?) and that she is a combination of all that is best in both of us.

I am proud of L.  The person that she is and will become. I am proud that she is 94cm tall and 25 kilos in weight.  That she has that intermediate British hair that can only be described as "mouse". That her best human friend is M, and her best inanimate friend is Mummy Sheep.  That she knows to say sorry, and please, and thank you.   That she likes painting, and reading, and dressing up.  That she has a wicked sense of humour.  That she loves singing.  That she's fascinated by pictures of herself.  That she loves her sisters (most of the time). That she wants (and is getting) a scooter for her birthday,  and that despite all my attempts to lure her with a bike she has stuck to her guns.   That she is determined to the point of bloody-mindedness.   That she knows all her letters and spelled her name, unasked, for the health visitor yesterday when we went to say goodbye.  That she makes friends everywhere we go.  That she is entirely happy with who she is.

Happy Birthday, my wonderful girl. xxxx