My baby girl turns one, today. Hard to believe.
My grandma (who had seven children) always used to say: "Every one's different!" and she was so right, just as in most everything else she said.
People ask Jim and me, frequently: "Where'd she [Charleigh] get that red hair?" and the truth is: we have no earthly idea. Each of us has some redheaded cousins, and one of my great-great-grandmothers was known for her red hair, also for the burn-holes in her apron pocket (thanks to her tendency to drop a lit pipe in there when someone pulled up, unexpectedly).
But we love Charleigh's hair--what little there is of it--and are fairly certain it won't change color. We are waiting, patiently, to see if she'll have curls like her sister. There seems to be some hope of this since her longest tuft of hair curls.
There also seems to be some hope of Charleigh's having that stereotypical redheaded temper, which flares only when she believes something's been taken unfairly from her. One can never become prepared, entirely, for Girlfriend's shriek of conviction and fury: especially since she's so calm, content, happy, and quiet most of the time.
She's lithe, long, and loving; she communicates happiness with her feet; and she appreciates the great outdoors and water, in particular. She picked her own name, which I translate as meaning "good news to the house of Carl." (Carl is my dad's, brother's, and nephew's name.)
I know in my spirit that Charleigh will be the one to take care of me, when I'm old. I've spent the past twelve months holding her just as close as possible, and it's been an amazing, unforgettable year.
Happy Birthday, Monkey Stinkerbell. We love you and are so glad God approved your choosing to join our family!
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