Three

Marie turned three last Saturday.  We are celebrating today.

Happy birthday, Baby Girls.

I remember the night you were born,

getting pulled over by a high-school-classmate-turned-police-officer on the way to the hospital,

your long, stubborn arrival,

your red curls.

I remember getting sick once home from the hospital

laying in bed with you,
me, all feverish,

you, all sweet-smelling and new.

What a pretty baby.

I remember the way you used to sit at the bookshelf, turning page after page,
then scoot away on your bum.
The way you carry kitties tight around the neck,

choose "When Jesus Was Born" every Sunday evening...

How quickly the other details escape my memory...

A real live doll.

I remember you chatter, your constant chatter...

Shhh, Marie, shhh...  Mama can't think...

Why do I not listen to all you have to say?

Is she a drama queen?

Yes, and that she gets from her mama,
she's named for me, you know.

I know the way you wheeze when you are sick,
the way you whine, and
your line:  Mom, I'm hungry...

Ah, Marie,

He plays in your ten thousand places,

lovely in limbs, lovely in blue eyes, His...