Today this kid is SEVEN. Yes, SEVEN. But she's about the size of a five-year-old. She's finally cracked forty pounds, actually.
How do I know this? Well, for her birthday she got the flu. Influenza B to be exact. And when we took her to urgent care they weighed her. Poor thing also had a fever of 104. And a nasty, croupy cough as well as a breathing issue. Yikes.
Grandma and grandpa showed up this weekend, too. Because of that, both the husband and I were able to go with Calla and dinner got taken care of at home without us. Violet asked at dinner if Calla had thrown up. Except since she knew she shouldn't be talking about throw up at the table she got up, walked away from the table and asked grandma, who was still sitting at the table, if Calla threw up. Then she announced that if I was there she couldn't even do that.
Anyway, Calla was pretty droopy and now we have her properly drugged, so her birthday shouldn't be totally miserable. I would take a picture of her, but she is pretty sorry looking still. The above picture will have to work. I love it, though.
Happy Birthday dear, sweet girl. Get well soon. And we pray that you continue to grow straight and strong and healthy.