Nine (the fourth)

Last week, our darling little pink thing turned 9, the last of the tribe in her last year of single figures. Quite scary and just a little bit sad really.

The joy of turning 9 is that there is still much excitement involved in the whole process. There was much anticipation, menu demands (spit roasted lamb, pork AND beef thank you very much) lack of sleep and even a lost tooth on the eve as she went to bed, which of course delayed the whole process and started another entire round of delays.

Emily is still very much the confident young thing, particularly in her own environment. She seems to be at the stage where she wants to do anything and everything. She’s playing softball in summer and netball in winter, but would desperately like to play hockey. She’s playing the violin, participating in ensemble, although the expected practice may have put paid to that as I’ve not heard the strains of practice for some time.

There’s also been lots of interest in singing lessons, which could be a good thing. She’s not a bad singer, but it does tend to drive the boys absolutely nuts when she wanders around the house singing to herself about anything and everything. With the addition of an iPod to her arsenal as a result of birthday wrangling, music is often to be found pumping from her bedroom through the little dock she bought herself. Now we just have to teach her about volume, though given the lack of control on the internal volume of her own vocals, I don’t hold out a lot of hope for that to come off.

Emily as a baby was a sleeper; a nice deep, long sleeper. She still is very good at sleeping once you get her to that state, but right now, it’s all about 47 ways to avoid getting to sleep, which leads to a gradual emptying of her room of anything that can entertain her. Unfortunately, with the fact that she’s so easily amused, that means there’s a hell of a lot of stuff that sometimes have to be removed (or threatened to) before she’s off in the land of nod.

Also at 9, Emily is a magical little tornado of mess. It doesn’t seem to matter what she’s doing, there’s a small path of destruction in her wake. From undertaking private craft projects, to experiements or even something as simple as colouring in or making chocolate milk, the activity is diverse the result is the same … mess.

So having bagged my little girl, I have to say that I am still insanely twisted around her little finger and love her to bits for all her little flaws as equally for the many smiles and pieces of joy that she brings to my life. At 9, there’s still a good chance of a running leap and hug when I come in the door, there’s the “I’ll miss you Daddy,” when I announce that I am going to be away for work for a day and there’s nothing quite like it when she’s well rested and happy and you get to spend some time with her and she announces at the end that she loves you very much and it’s been ‘The Best Day EVER!”

Happy Birthday Emily.