Today is Abigail’s birthday. She’s six. Which seemed so very big to Dane and I until we realized that at her next birthday, she’ll be seven, and that just sounds ancient, so now we’re fine with six (incidentally, Dane concluded that conversation by telling me that I’m old).

She woke up to discover a ribbon-festooned two-wheeler this morning, brand-new and suspiciously decal-free (and a helmet with bugs on it! No, not real bugs). Relatives have been calling all day to wish her a happy birthday. So far, she’s spent most of the day explaining that children ought to be allowed to eat as much frozen corn (still frozen, not reheated) as they wish on their birthdays, unless, of course, they are allergic to frozen corn, in which case they ought not be given any, even if they do ask, even if it is their birthday.

She also explained very seriously that the only conceivable food item to consume for lunch was ice cream. When I said I thought she’d be mighty hungry if she was going to wait until after dinner tonight to eat her lunch, she informed me that she was, in fact, about to DIE of starvation, and she would never see her Daddy again. Unless I scooped her some ice cream. Right now. Sorry, sweet child. Not going to happen.

She ate some frozen corn.

She has wanted to hear all about the day she was born: Who was at the birth? (Mommy and Daddy, of course, and our midwives: first Brandy, then Jamie, and last of all Andrea, just in time.)

Did you tell everyone I was born? (Yes, we called and woke everyone up in the middle of the night. Except Uncle Dan, who was still awake when we called.)

Who came to see me? (Everyone we know. The very first visitors were Grandma and Uncle Dan, who arrived at just the same time in different cars. Meme and Papy came later with Ry. And lots of others who came to see you, and also to bring us dinner and ice cream.)

Was I SO tiny? (Yes. But my arms weren’t used to holding a baby all the time, so you felt very heavy to me.)

Was I smaller than Owen when he was born? (Well, no. You were the biggest baby of all in our family.)

What did I do when I was born? (You screamed and screamed. You screamed for three hours, then slept for six and woke up screaming.) She laughs at this.

We’ve looked at the clothes she wore when she was a baby, now hanging in Audrey’s closet, and tonight we’ll look at her baby pictures. And now I had better go bake some cupcakes, as Abigail and Owen keep asking, “Are the cupcakes done yet?” and I have to keep replying, “We haven’t started making them!”

They don’t seem impressed by that answer.

Happy birthday, girl. You’ve come a long way in six short years. I can’t wait to see where you’re headed next.