Nine years old. Her last year in the single digits.

At 1:13 pm today in 2001, our oldest daughter was born. When I think of the evolution, from little peanut to pre-adolescent girl, I’m amazed. She proudly told anyone who happened to ask that it was her birthday today and she thoroughly enjoyed all the attention she received at dinner earlier. Between the balloons waiting for her at our table, the singing and the announcement the hotel made over the PA system, Chloe was definitely basking in the glory.

Our little girl is growing up. She’s still a kid in many ways – she loves to be silly and her propensity to get upset over little things still amazes us. On the other hand, she likes to think she’s more mature than a typical 9-year old. And I suppose in some ways she is. She possesses the vocabulary of someone much older. She’s a little jaded (not exactly a trait I’m proud of, but one for which I must take responsibility). The dichotomy between tantrum Chloe and wannabe teenager Chloe is sometimes jarring, to say the least.

Earlier today, she thanked us for her special birthday weekend. And she said it with such sincerity it brought tears to my eyes. Mind you, I had gently reminded her earlier this morning that it would be nice to hear some gratitude from her after she had thrown a minor tantrum (still very much a kid, you see) about nonsense. But after she recovered from her temporary bad mood, the thank you came enthusiastically and spontaneously out of her mouth. And it made my day. Happy birthday, dear Chloe. We love you.