This girl of mine, my firstborn.

As my oldest shoots toward her tenth birthday ("Two digits, Mom!" she likes to tell me with a huge grin on her face), I find myself looking back on her short life. This time ten years ago, I was in the final months of my pregnancy. I didn't know if I was having a boy or girl, I didn't realize quite how much having a new baby would change my life, and I had no idea the joys she would bring to my life.

She was a happy baby, a sweet (though headstrong) toddler, and she has always been a very independent person. She's changed from my chubby baby to a string bean (much like I was at that age). She's interested in bugs and mud and books when many girls her age are fascinated with dresses or boys or shopping. She's ready to grow up, but in so many ways, she's still very much a little girl. She wants to be an entomologist when she grows up and she plans to have a house filled with bugs, fish, and adopted children. Sometimes she wants to get married, but usually she doesn't.

She loves her sisters, but gets along better with Beth. Kate is still too much a baby for the two of them to get along for long periods of time. Jill's imagination is always running away with her; she daydreams and makes up stories, but she loves doing things with her hands, too. She painted and assembled a solar system model, has fallen in love with her weaving loom, and loves her science kit.

In school, her favorite subjects are science and history. She tolerates math, and almost hates grammar and writing(nooo!!). Though she's like me in many ways, she's also an enigma. I can't always predict what she'll like or say or do, but when I look at her, I know I love her. Though I love all my girls, Jill will always hold a special spot in my heart. She is my firstborn, the one I made (and continue to make) all my mistakes on, the one who frustrates and fascinates me by turns. She is truly herself, and she won't change for anyone.