Yawn! Good mornin'! Can't I sleep another hour? After work yesterday I went to Golds Gym and then an Opus Dei Circle. By the time I got home Michelle and the boys were in bed, but the girls were just arriving from a shopping trip at Kohls. Claire bought a dress for homecoming. I'm not sure if Abby got anything, but Abby and Kohls were meant for each other.
Today is my baby's 18th birthday. My lil' Claire. Claire Marie. A legal adult. When she came home from the hospital she was just barely over five pounds. I felt like I was carrying a bag flour. She's still the "runt" of the family, so to speak, but so full of spunk, generosity, and initiative. Concentrated awesome, as I'd joked earlier.
For some reason this morning I was thinking of my late mother and her reaction to Claire's birth. She was upset that I called to let her know of the birth in the afternoon after the delivery as I was about to leave the hospital parking lot. I hadn't let her know "we were goin' in!" I didn't want to trouble her and it was a fast delivery. But mom wanted time to fret and pray. She wanted the anticipation of breaking the news that "Michelle is going into labor" to her friends. When Abby was weeks from being born, my mother reminded me: "Now you tell me when you're going in this time!"
Use of the verb "fret" reminds me of one of my favorite young Claire stories. When she had learned to talk, after several months we were trying to break her of the habit of always saying "I want" and replace it with something like "May I [...] please"
So one morning she was anxious about something. I have no recollection what it was, but something small was bothering her a bit. I'd said something like, "oh Claire, it'll work out. Don't fret". To which she replied, "But I want to fret..."
Enjoy this Jan 2001 photo of a five year old Claire in the hospital holding a newborn brother. Sorry to say I don't know which of the twins it was. It was really difficult back then.