I stole this web post from my daughter Amy for two reasons. First, I wanted you to read what she wrote about our first-born grandchild Chloe. Second, I wanted to introduce you to her blog Animation of Amy.
A school of freckles swim across the bridge of her nose. The exact number is compromised by red frames, but I wouldn't dare try to count them anyway. She wouldn't let me; for no other reason than she quietly demands my full attention with lists of needs, recipes and the amount it will cost to make her latest concoction. Chloe is eleven.
She came seven weeks early to the appropriate tune of Brown-Eyed Girl playing in the background of a sterile operating room. We think the doctor miscalculated the due date as she was born five pounds of perfection. No physical problems accompanied my sweet baby girl save a finicky appetite. We couldn't get her to down a four ounce bottle in the required time it took in order to release her from the newborn intensive care unit. Had there been a cake flavored infant formula, the cost of her hospital stay would have been substantially less.
In the eleven plus years that she has graced our planet with her presence, she has been just short of angelic. Other than the occasional slap to the back of her brother's head, she has caused no drama. Even as I type these words, I am saying a prayer of thanksgiving under my breathe for being so undeservedly blessed. While other little girls in Goddard Middle School sport make-up and clothes that fit the likes of Britney Spears, I am amazed but not surprised that Chloe carries her studious little self so confidently through the school halls.
She is strong. She knows what she wants. She is kind and all together good. She is my daughter.