Bonny and Blithe

Let me begin by saying I love birthdays. Every single thing about them. I love getting older and reflecting on everywhere I've been, everything I've seen, everyone I've met along the way. It's a fabulous life I've got going here and I can't wait to see what another year will bring. Yep, it's my birthday today, February 25. I'm 32. My typically stagnant Facebook page is blowing up. Here's a few things about my birth that you may not know...

**Disclaimer: These facts might in all actuality be total fabrications from a guilt ridden mother of a THIRD baby (two other kids ages 2 and 6.) You see, my baby book has nada in it with the exception of my name and date. I do know the date is correct because I found my crumbled up, yellow (which did not start yellow--my fave color-- if you know what I mean) birth certificate under a pile of books in the garage. Totally kidding about most of that description. I'm pretty sure it was in a file somewhere. Anywho, it's funnier when I think of it that way. You see, my bro (the eldest, golden Clairain child) had a baby book filled to the brim. Literally, bursting at the seams, you can follow when each tooth burst through his golden, perfect gums. Every single burp is documented. It's quite amazing. My sister's (middle, silver child) book has all the blanks filled in. You can quickly appreciate when she walked for the first time and other major milestones. My baby book (the bronze child?) Not so much.
Maybe for my third child (God--and Wade--willing), I just won't buy a baby book. When they grow up and ask about it, I'll make a big fuss looking everywhere for that darn scrapbook. I'll overturn pillows and pull drawers out and at the end of the day, I'll sink down on the couch despondently, sigh, and start crying that "I can't BELIEVE I would lose my child's scrapbook! It was so THOROUGH and took years to compile. Years, I tell you!" Then, I'll hug said third child and take them out for ice cream in which they will say, "Mom, it's fine. I think I remember seeing it when I was five or so and it WAS, indeed, thorough." (I'll totally show them Everett's book alot when they're little.)
Now, before you go off calling DHS or referring me to some psychologist, I had a completely FAB childhood. My Mom thrust upon us copious amounts of snuggling, hugs, kisses, and the value of healthy eating (just throwing that in there because it is VERY important but I sure didn't think that when I was a kid. No Fruit Loop ever crossed the Clairain threshold. I went to other people's houses and seriously thought white bread was a dessert until I was about 10. Appreciated habits now, terrible then.) Wow, longest disclaimer ever.**

I was born on a Sunday.
"...And the Child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, and good and happy." I would have to agree.
I was born right around my due date at noon(ish). Mom had always told me I was born around noon. I eventually came across a pic of the delivery room clock. Aww, how sweet. Dad was snapping away and even thought to get a photo of the time I was born. However, upon further inspection, the clock showed sometime around 5. Hold. up. Mom swears the clock was broken. What.Ever.
I was 9 pounds, 8(ish) ounces.
I was between 18 and 22 inches long.
I am a girl, though they didn't know before I came out.
I got teeth, walked, and grew up.

I always thought it was funny that I was celebrated on my birthday. Especially after having a child, I must say that shouldn't my Mom and Dad be celebrated on my birthday? Mom's the one who did all the work to get me here. They're the ones who raised me right. However, it involves cake eating so who am I to argue?

With most of my undocumented growth, it made me a tad crazy about getting all of our memories down on paper. Like ALL memories. Mom says, "Just wait until you have to chase a toddler around and have a baby. Then we'll see how much scrapbookin' you get to do." (That's why I already have a plan for my "third child's scrapbook." Bwahahaha.)
I even have a room in my house devoted to all things "crafty" (and not in the Beastie Boys Crafty sort of way.) Notice Rhett's little table on the left. I can only dream that he likes to be crafty too.


Just a couple of our scrapbooks from the last 9 years or so.


Now, some nuggets from the past.
This pic nearly brings me to tears. Mom and Dad swear it's me and not Jay or Lindsay. I think I'll believe them on this one as I'm assuming Dad's shooting the pics and Dad's weren't allowed in the delivery room for my sibs. Crazy, huh?! Look how fat my head was! Guess that explains Ev's 95 percentile noggin!


A totally happy childhood...Oops! How'd that one get in there.

Oh, wait. None of us are smiling here either. I think Fritz, the dog, is even frowning. Merry Christmas from The Clairains. Whomp, whomp.

That's more like it. Dang, that fat head again! But it was a happy fat head, no?

Now, we're happy! Cake's involved! Holla. Look at Lindsay. Acting like she's actually going to eat a sweet.

Hope everyone has as Happy a Birthday as I always have! Thanks, Mom and Dad for choosing to have me (unless I was an accident and in that case, SUCKA!)