Nine years ago I was laying in a hospital bed, completely numb from the chest down, exhausted, holding this girl. She was 6 pounds, 6 ounces, which, for my body’s ability to carry children, was pretty darn big and I was proud we made it that far. She was supposed to come at the end of May or beginning of June. My body doesn’t do pregnancy very well, though, so she came “early,” at about the 37 week mark. She came after months of worry, weekly ultrasounds, part-time bedrest. She came after a doctor finally looked at an ultrasound, after weekly visits of hours-a-piece, and said “it’s time.” My body didn’t have room, space, fluids; it didn’t have the ability to keep it up, but we made it to 37 weeks and a few days – the ultimate goal.

She was almost twice the size of her brother when he was born. She was able to go home in a real car seat after just a couple days in the hospital, and she’s been moving with her own rhythm ever since. She slept on her own, in her crib or wherever she wanted. She wasn’t a snuggle bug like her brother; she only became more snuggly as an older kid.

You know the song by Alicia Keys, “Girl on Fire”? When I think about my persistent, outgoing and supremely friendly daughter, that song runs through my head. She doesn’t give up when she wants something. She is the epitome of “nevertheless, she persisted,” which is good for her in the long term, but wow, it can test the patience when she levies her powers for things like going to Skyzone or not eating any of her dinner but still expecting to have a dessert and a snack later that night.

She writes poems. She has a quirky sense of fashion. She invents things from scraps she recycles from all over: a left-over scrap of paper, ripped cardboard, empty tissue boxes, plastic plates from an event. She draws detailed pictures of animal friends and then gives them names and personalities to match. She blows up balloons, draws faces on each of them, names them, then protects them with her life (god forbid we throw away the wrinkled old pirate balloon; she did let me throw away the pieces of “Stella,” who had popped somehow). She put a bunch of small toys and coins into a balloon and blew it up to play with. The balloon is shrinking, but it is still precious. She rigs up machines and pulleys and parachutes for her toys. She loves music and playing with her big brother. She is always on the go.

In a few days, we’ll have three other girls over for Annika’s first real sleepover. She begged for a sleepover for a year, ever since her last birthday. She reminded us regularly, at least every month. We finally relented: if she cleaned her room, she could have a sleepover. Tonight, she worked on her room for three hours.

Happy birthday, Annika. I hope this last year in her single digits is joyful.