Today, Monkey is seven years old.
I could have sworn she just turned two.
Seven years ago I was propped up in a hospital bed, with 12 of my "closest" family members, watching Perry Mason, and counting to ten between pushes.
I only counted like four times.
(Don't hate me. My girly bits were on display for every person I was related to because the nurse never asked them to leave.)
(I've since learned to assert myself.)
Last week Monkey informed me that she should get a cell phone when she turns seven.
And that she wants to dye her hair black and blue...
I thought I had seven more years before this came up.
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Happy Birthday, Monkey!
(stop growing already.)
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