I.M. Rich

Fifteen years ago today I gave birth to a 9 pound 12 ounce baby girl—and she wasn’t even my biggest baby!

The fruit of our loins comes in Biggie Size.

She was the sweetest most temperate baby ever born and it’s a darn good thing because whenever Ivy made a rare peep, her high strung two-year-old sister would scream at her, “BE QUIET, BABY!” and say, “Mommy, put her back in your tummy!”

I couldn’t put her back in my tummy, nor did I want to because getting her out was painful enough, plus she had big brown eyes and a cute curly brown fro.

As a toddler she liked to run around in the buff wearing only her Bug’s Life snow boots.

She had to get glasses at age 2 1/2 and she often hid them. When I would ask her where her glasses were she would shrug and say, “All gone.” I found them in the mailbox, in the dishwasher, and buried in the sandbox.

She got stuck in the toilet once.

She was and is a sweetheart.

Now she’s five feet eight inches tall, wears contacts instead of glasses and a size ten shoe, but she still has big brown eyes and a cute curly brown fro that’s just a bit longer now.

We just realized the other day that her initials spell I.M. Rich. We didn’t even do that on purpose!

With the last name of Rich we toyed with naming our kids Filthy, Neva B. or Stink N., but without even trying to be cheeky we made a cool name effect, and it completely fits because with I.M. Rich in our family We R. Rich.


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