Eight

For the first half of my third pregnancy I was convinced I was having a band of boys. I was surprised when the 18 week scan said our baby was to be of the female variety (in fact when I had a later scan I asked if it was still a girl!).  The day of Rosie's birth arrived and as I had become quite accustomed to c-sections by now I chatted away to the surgeon as he was rummaging around behind the green screen, discussing England's chances in the World Cup. All of a sudden he held aloft a tiny body with legs hitched up as high as could be and arms flailing with disgust at being taken from her warm sanctuary!  She was quickly wrapped and placed on my chest to snuggle, where I examined the tiny head and fingers poking out from the blanket and we introduced ourselves to each other once more.  I wasn't kidding when I said she was tiny (6lb 6oz):

Oh how looks can be deceiving!  Rosie was the strongest of all my babies and she is the most unafraid.  She would run after her big brothers with worms while they screamed, climb and jump from things the boys didn't have the courage to, and is always the one with scabby knees.  Rosie also introduced me to non-stop talking.  Before she could form words she babbled and to this day she doesn't feel the need to let a gap in conversation exist.  Rosie likes to write letters and cards, most of them telling the recipient she loves them.  She sings and dances to music with me in the kitchen when I am making dinner.  She is my whirlwind.  I wouldn't change my little girl for the world.

Being eight looks like this at six thirty in the morning:

Rosie planned the food for her birthday tea which had to include French Fancies:

The birthday cake was made to requirement also, chocolate (of course) with Skittles on top:

Homemade paper bunting:

My favourite part of the day?  When Rosie said her best birthday present will be getting baptised on Saturday!

Enjoy Rosie's photography: