This Girl is Nine

Sometimes I don't even know how it happened. One moment I'm in awe of a little face bundled in hospital blankets and the next she's a gorgeous long legged girl that we're told often looks a lot like her mama.

Last night I put my eight year old to bed. And this morning woke up and another year was gone in a blink.

This girl.

Photo by brooke collier photography

Isabelle has spunk and sass. Just last night she made a sarcastic and witty statement that made me burst out laughing. (Not the complimentary mommy laugh at the made up joke to boost their self-esteem. A real belly laugh because of her quick wit and dry humor.) Don't get me wrong, there are days the sass is just. too. much. (Did I say she's only nine today? Because sometimes it feels more like nineteen...) But I love the bold leader she is becoming; passionate about justice and fiercely loyal to her friends.  

She reads ravenously, loves to ballet dance in the living room, and sings at the top of her lungs. She cooks with her daddy in the kitchen and does her hair next to me each morning while I do my makeup. She teases her brother, loves holding babies, and can't get enough time with her best friend, Jillian. She's perfectionistic and compassionate like her mama and courageous and creative like her Daddy. And watching her fall in love with her Maker is a whole other story; as she glimpses the truths of the gospel, the love of her Savior, and finding her identity as a daughter of the King.

Isabelle is in the awkward in between. No longer a little girl but far from being a woman or even a teenager. Longing for independence but still needing the reassurance of her parents close by. Asking about dangly earrings and lip gloss and still playing with her American Girl Dolls. Which leaves her mama in the awkward in between too. Still wanting to hold her hand in the parking lot but finding myself needing to let go more often. Letting go of control as she learns what it means to make mistakes and grow from them. Letting go of rescuing and letting her figure our relationships. Letting go of my baby as she becomes her own.

Happy Birthday, Bella. I'm proud of the little girl you're leaving behind and the young woman you're becoming.