Happy Feast of St. Scholastica! And Happy Birthday, sweet Ami!
Dear Amélie Maria Margarete,
One year ago you entered our lives with all the drama that a little sister with two older brothers likes to command. Your brothers seem to accept your demand of the throne without question.
You are a child of many nicknames. We have always loved your name. But we cannot help but turn it diminutive. Dad calls you “Schnecke”, and you have so much drool that this “Little Snail” name suits you well. We tried to call you “Mel”, but “Ami” seems to suit you so much better.
I love that Logan calls you “Chico”…or “Cheek-o” as we came to realize it was. The story of why just makes me laugh. He also calls you “Tornado Head” because of the cowlicks on the back of your head. And I think that maybe it was the tornado warning from the night of your birth that swirled your hair.
You were born ready to climb. You rolled, crawled, climbed, stood, and walked earlier than I was ready for. I would tell you to slow down, but I don’t think it would do you any good.
You are building your ASL vocabulary, and you charm your world when you sign for what you need or tell us what you see. I will never get tired of having conversations with our hands.
You are never happier than when you are playing with your brothers. If only they would include you in all their big kid games. You have them both mostly wrapped around your finger…until you take their things. I would not say you favor one over the other. But you love them differently. For Liam is your hero…and Logan is your partner in crime. You have a blood-curdling scream when they don’t let you have your way. You may think you are stubborn, but your mother is more stubborn, so don’t plan on THAT habit lasting very long.
You love your dogs and relish your job of feeding them biscuits and also ordering them around, though they are three times your size. You sing the most precious of songs to your baby dolls and stuffed animals. You are a mimic-er. You are the knocker-down of block towers. You have the best form for squats – which doubles as your dance move. Which means that you have inherited your Papa’s and my style of dancing. So sorry.
You are my child of yets. I labored for so long with you and yet you were born so fast. I am still waiting for the day that you sleep through the night. And yet I have never felt so rested in my life. You are busy and yet you are calm. You are fierce and yet you are gentle. You work steadily, and yet you are eager. You have blessed our whole family with your zest and your love. I love the baby you have been, the child you are, and the woman you will become.
All my love,