This week Elizabeth turned six. She has been waiting to turn six for quite a long time, and has been counting down the months since this summer, the weeks since we arrived in Dushanbe, and the days for the last few weeks. It's been a much-anticipated birthday.
She had a very happy birthday, which started with crepes for breakfast, followed by a trip to the embassy to pick up mail and pumpkins. Thankfully the mail included her birthday presents (I misjudged exactly how long the mail takes to make its agonizingly slow progress all the way to Dushanbe), so it was an extra happy mail trip.
The rest of her day was filled with whatever she wanted to do, with the exception of a Russian lesson, and ended with a delicious dinner of Kraft macaroni and cheese (her choice), vanilla cake with vanilla frosting (also her choice), and the thing she'd been waiting for the last six months - presents!
One of the great things about being the youngest of seven children is that all your older siblings have the money, inclination, and ability to give you presents. It was a toss up between Eleanor's present - a handmade blanket and halter for her model horse - and William's - a whole entire kilo of candy - for the best sibling of the day award.
One of the great things about being six is that there are so many things that can make you happy. It's nice to have a child who is thrilled with things like candy, books, dresses, and watercolor sets. I love the easiness of making Elizabeth happy.
I remember when Kathleen turned six - she was the oldest of four children and I felt like she was halfway to being able to vote. Compared to the ages of my other children - four, two, and not yet one, she was the wise, ancient one who I depended as my right-hand girl. Six was such an incredibly useful, mature age. She was in first grade! She could read! And more importantly, she could read to her siblings! She could follow directions and be trusted to actually do what I asked her to!
Elizabeth can do all of those things also - and some things that Kathleen couldn't do at six (like ride a bike) - but they're no longer wondrous any more because six people before her have already done them at all. So instead of being my right-hand girl, she's my just-stay-little-a-little-longer girl. But Elizabeth is just as eager to get big and grow up as her siblings were before her, so I will have to snatch my cuddles and story time and opportunities to carry her one last time where I can.
It is bittersweet to have my last child be six years old. I love that all of my children are completely independent now. It's beautiful to tell them all to bathe themselves and get ready for bed - and they do it. When we go out, it's no longer the crazy monkey circus that it used to be. Traveling hardly counts as work any more. My life is much calmer and I get a lot more done now.
But I also don't have babies falling asleep in my arms in that soft, boneless, bottomless sleep that only a baby can fall into. I can't fix all of life's problems with a kiss and a cuddle, and the height of happiness can't be found in a wild round of tickling.
That part of my life has ended, and I will never return to it. It felt endless while I was in it, but now it feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. Time is like that - it plays tricks on you while you're not looking or paying attention and your seeming eternity of young children is gone forever.
However, Elizabeth is still only six and hasn't yet left me for good, so I intend to enjoy all of the sweetness of a six year old girl that still writes me love notes and wants a story (or three) every night. There's no need to rush; she'll have time enough to grow up.
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