The Last Baby is Not a Baby Anymore

Dear Alice,

You are FOUR!

I’ll tell you something you have probably already figured out: As the final born child, every one of your milestones is emotional for me. It’s just the way it is for the last baby. I’m sorry…but not.

In the past couple months, you’ve grown up so much in anticipation of turning four. You ditched the crib for a Big Girl bed, and are now (not so) patiently awaiting the bedroom re-do later this spring when we repaint your room and get your a REAL Big Girl bed. You chose mermaids for your bedding, and Grandma and Grandpa got it for you for your birthday.

You potty trained! No more diapers in this house! After 9.5 years, we are now–finally–diaper free. I admit that I was not emotional about that one because changing a toddler’s poopy diaper is one of the grossest parts of parenting. We are much happier that all that business is happening in the toilet now.

And just a week ago, you gave up your boppy (pacifier). The Boppy Fairy came in the night and turned it into a Barbie car which you love so much you took it to daycare for a full week.

We signed you up for swimming lessons and gymnastics this spring/summer and you are already talking about what you will wear to both.

And this week you told your first real lie: about what happened to your purple princess lipstick (“It’s not in my [laundry] basket, mom.” Spoiler: it was in there, broken into pieces).

We definitely do not have any more babies in this house, that’s for sure.

At four, you are incredibly opinionated. You feel you need to have a say in every single decision: your clothes, your shoes, your toys, your brothers, meals, what is on TV, who sits where, the color of your milk cup. This goes on and on. When you don’t get your way, there is quite a bit of dramatics.

You are quick to hug and kiss and say, “I love you,” to every member of the family, though. If you throw a fit, you will come back later with a snuggle and tell us you love us.

You are like a dance shoved in a tiny body. You like to twirl and “shake your peanut” even when there is no music.

Oh, and you have opinions on music too. If we do not play your favorite song (which could be any of a hundred songs at any one time), there are hysterics. Currently your favorites include “Thunder” by Imagine Dragons and “We Will Rock You” by Queen (you like to tell us all we have mud on our face).

You have one of the loudest laughs I have ever heard. Maybe because it’s so squealy.

You want to help or do everything I do. You follow me around, and when I tell you to go play with your toys, you protest. A lot.

When I read, you get out your copy of Bossypants by Tina Fey and sit next to me.

When I put makeup on in the morning, you get your stool and choose a lip gloss and ask me to use “the big brush” on your face.

When I make dinner, you drag your stool into the kitchen to “help” with hopes that something sweet is made that you can lick.

We celebrated your birthday with pink and princesses, of course. You even wore your Elsa dress (and crown, and gloves) for your birthday party with Charlie on Saturday.

Your facial expressions are something of a legend around here. They are so over-the-top that I am reminded of Lucille Ball whenever you pull them. (Sidenote: We got a book about girls who changed the world and you pointed out Lucille Ball as your favorite).

You have a big voice, and while I don’t want you to lose the sass and courage to stand up for what you believe, I do wish you could reign it in when it’s about not loving what I made for dinner or wanting candy as a meal. (Sidenote: while I write this you are sitting on the floor with your arms crossed, quite angry because I told you we are having chicken for dinner, not a sandwich).

We are at the age of begging and NO! and all the questions and non-stop talking. SO MUCH TALKING. (Sidenote: you are talking to me right now and I don’t even know what it’s about, but you have said, “mom” at least a dozen times.)

You love to tell me that we are both “moms and girls” (you have Babycita, so I guess that makes you a mom) and that we are the same.

You hate to have your hair brushed, but you refuse to have it cut–or even trimmed.

You can count to 20 and recognize your name and can say MOST of the alphabet.

You love to sing and make me sing you “Row Row Boat” and “Jesus Loves Me” every time I tuck you in at night.

You love books, but you want to read them your way and comment on every single picture and what you think the book should say.

Every single day you make me laugh. Every single day you drive me to the edge of my own sanity. I am so glad that you are my daughter.

Happy fourth birthday, my little Alicita.

Love,

Momma

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About Katie

Just a small town girl...wait no. That is a Journey song. Katie Sluiter is a small town girl, but she is far from living in a lonely world. She is a middle school English teacher, writer, mother, and wife. Life has thrown her a fair share of challenges, but her belief is that writing through them makes her stronger.

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