My baby. My first, tiniest, sweetest, girliest, most cuddled, most anticipated and feared, baby. Is six. 6 years old.
Now she's a prancing, fancy, sweet, girly, smiling, not at all cuddly, not at all feared, big girl. Not even remotely a baby anymore. In two years she'll get baptized. In ten years she'll date and drive and all that - but let's not go there yet.
When I woke her up this morning I said "Happy Birthday!" And the first words out of her mouth were, "I'm six!" I agreed with her and then she added, "Right now!"
Before she left for school less than an hour later, she had already used the "Since it's my birthday..." angle to get what she wanted at least a dozen times.
She's nobody's fool.