Four candles for Rose

Today is the youngest kidlet's birthday. I'm having a tough time with it. Four sounds so much older than three. Not that I want another baby. But it's hard to watch that youngest child grow up. Harder than I thought it would be.

Each baby was special, but I found myself relaxing more and more with each one. (That probably explains the Birth Order Book-certain personality characteristics based on your order in a family-I read awhile back more than anything.)

By the third baby I'd gotten over so many of those neurotic mother worries. That meant I could stop getting up in the middle of the night to make sure she was still breathing. I could take her to Disneyland when she was only three months old and not freak out about the germs in the air on the plane, in the hotel room or at the amusement park. I didn't feel guilty when I finally put away the cloth diapers and put her in a disposal one. I no longer felt compelled to sterilize everything, and the five-second rule actually sounded a few seconds too short.

Not that I didn't cherish the time with the oldest, but I came to enjoy the overall experience more each time because I was less worried and more confident in following my own mommy instincts. Sure, I was still a worst-case-scenario thinker. I think that comes with being a writer. But I'm certain I would have dealt with and been affected by the second child's speech difficulties and the third child's heath issues differently had they happened with the first child.

I've found mothering to be a lot like writing. There's a steep learning curve with the first few books I wrote. You rely on writing craft books the way a new mother relies on baby books. I haven't stopped learning or developing as a writer, but the process becomes more organic with each manuscript. It doesn't become easier, but by no longer sweating every little detail or following so-called "rules," I've enjoyed the experience of writing subsequent books so much more.

My little one just ran into our bedroom. We wished her a Happy Birthday! She couldn't believe she was now four. Her words, "I got older when I slept?"

Happy Birthday, my beautiful Rose! You have been a true blessing and joy in my life.