At 4 years old, Molly Rose is my second born of three children but, she is by no means, the "middle child."


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She is my Princess. My dancing angel, cupcake with pink sprinkles, butterfinger pie with ice cream squidgy bug love pudding.


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There is a cheeky, annoying, charming glow about this kid that is just unmistakable.


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She can throw a tantrum the likes of which I doubt you have ever seen.


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She loves Yo Gabba Gabba, punk rock, ballerinas, slides and anything you can call candy. Her favorite thing is just hanging out with us.


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Her laugh - not the twinkly little girlie laugh she has developed since pre-school, but her real laugh - is the kind of laugh that makes her "poot" (fart) and gives her a cramp in her belly and an ache in her face. She laughs a lot.
She can sulk in one crouched, fetal position, groaning like a hungry puppy for a VERY LONG TIME over, what seem very small things. But then, I guess they're not small to her.


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When she was born, I panicked. I was so afraid I was going to damage this beautiful, amazing little, life altering creature. I was so petrified at the idea that I now had a little girl who could hurt as deeply as I did and that I might actually be the one to hurt her. So much so, that my fear of "getting it wrong" sent me into a severe bout of depression - not post natal depression (not that that isn't it's own personal hell) but a depression so severe, so deep and intense, that I wished that it would end me.


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Molly taught me to hold my nose and jump. To just do it - even if it scares you. She taught me this, with juuuust enough time for me to teach it back to her, should the time come that she forgets.




Molly can give you a look that will melt your heart and a glare that will raise the dead.







Molly is her baby sister's bestest friend in the whole wide world. She tries to be very patient... Usually....