Hi! I, uh, didn't mean to leave my photo up for what, three days? Can anyone say fishing for compliments?

Which I don't deny, by the way, but still. Everyone is all, "Jeeeeeez. New hair. Whatever. We get it. You so pretty. Please. Just, whatever."

Erm...

So! Let's move on! Yesterday was my youngest's official 4th birthday. She is four. I am the mother of a four year old once again, and it is a damn fine thing.

My last baby has fully left behind her toddler years, and qualifies for the whole preschooler label, and I haven't wept a single tear over it. Yet. Give me a few minutes and I can work myself up to full-blown body heaves.

I had planned to write a moving entry about her progress and her sparkle and her singing. But then I got new hair, and have been prancing around like a My LIttle Pony, tossing my glossing mane and whinnying. And then the boy and the birthday girl both came down with fevers, so I spent last night pinned to the couch, with my son curled in my left arm, legs draped across my lap, my youngest curled in my right arm, legs draped over her brothers, and my oldest snuggled up against my arm. Oh, and the cat was laying on the back of my neck. The two kids in my arms were facing each other, snuffling and snoring and spreading germs and trickling drool across my chest.

They were both feverish, and I used my lips to brush their sweaty hair from their brows, while listening to their mouth breathing. Such high color in their cheeks, lips swollen, eyelashes wet from cranky tears. My oldest strained to be a part of our dogpile, and I patted her clumsily with my hand as she rested her face on my upper arm.

I wonder how many more years they will all fit in my arms. I wonder how many more years they will all WANT to fit in my arms.

I also wonder how much longer I've got before I'm felled by the same cold.

Ah, yes. Here's the crying. I can't tell whether it is from the thought of my babies growing up, or from the thought of getting sick. It doesn't really matter, now does it?