Belle turns two on Saturday. We've been telling her about her upcoming "Princess Party" (we gave it a name to make it sound special) and all the stuff associated with it. The last few nights she's fallen asleep talking to us about who's coming to the party and what she wants at the party. Last night when she was in a bad mood she said nobody was going to come to her birthday party. Tonight was different.
My Dad, being the awesome cook he is, will be providing the meat. About fifteen minutes ago as we were laying down with Belle to get her to go to sleep we started talking more about her party. Our conversation began something like this:
"Belle, is Dave coming to your party?"
"Is Jesse coming to your party?"
"Are you going to have a pink castle cake at your party?"
"Yes. I have Apple Juice too!"
"Is Papa coming to your party?"
"Yes. Papa bringing my meat for me."
Then she began essentially repeating the same few sentences, rearranging the words periodically but making sure we know about it. In the dark, Belle's little hands grabbed for my cheeks and turned my head toward her to make sure I understood the gravity of what she was telling me:
"Daddy, Papa have be careful my meat. Papa, don't drop it. Papa, don't drop meat. Papa have be careful." After this was established she moved on to other things my Dad needs to look out for.
She is freaking adorable. More than that, she apparently loves eating meat. Belle has also taken a liking to the A's and Niners. She puts on my 49ers hat and says "Go Niners!" Her Auntie Shannon got her a foam finger at the A's game a couple weeks ago, and every now and then she puts that on and marches around the house saying "Go A's!"
I am truly a blessed man. As a side note, if my Dad drops the meat and/or cuts himself this weekend at the party I will start documenting Belle's "ramblings" and possibly ask her to pick some lotto numbers for me.