Portrait of a (quirky, beautiful) nine year old

(Since I haven't been writing regularly, I keep wanting to write about what the children are like right now. I have a bit of a "where to start" dilemma, but I'm going with it and starting anywhere.)

So, Morgan Anne, nine years old and so tall and calm and stubborn. The least like me in personality in many ways, but still just as quirky as you ever were.

You have entirely your own sense of style. Sort of floral punk, mainly. You layer things seemingly at random. When you asked for your undercut just before Christmas my hands shook shaving it for you as you laughed and said, "It's only hair, it will grow if I don't like it." When I catch you stroking your "fuzzy baby hair" behind your ear it always makes me grin.

If I have to listen to every Pentatonix song over and over forever I will try to rejoice in it with you, but I am always up for part singing (and dancing with you). You always did like to repeat the same stories and songs over and over. You can shimmy perfectly (how?) and can copy almost any style of dance. You are such an excellent mimic.

I wish I could give you the kind of ordered and beautiful nest you would like. I'm a bit disorganised, you may have noticed, and easily distracted from housekeeping. I'm grateful that you enjoy setting things right and are so willing to help when I ask. If that lasts I will be pleasantly surprised, but right now it's one of the things I honestly appreciate. I am trying to keep on top of the chaos, I really am.

Your calm and patience awes me. Every baby we know instantly takes to you and considers you a safe easy person. You don't get up in their faces (perhaps because you appreciate your own space) and you rarely get scary-loud when you're excited.

You rarely dig your heels in but when you do we all know that whatever it is will happen your way. You're so happy in your own little bubble you don't bother about what's going on around you. Honestly, that makes it still absolutely terrifying for me near roads and at the swimming pool, but it makes life easier when there is wrangling over who gets which ice cream or where to go for a walk.

I remember when you were a baby, you testing the radiator temperature by putting a hand on it, and then shouting at it furiously when it was hot, before trying again, as though you could change the fact of it by sheer determination. I still see that baby in you sometimes!

Right now you're sitting in front of me wearing shortie pyjamas and your dark amber necklace. We re-dyed the ends of your hair bright purple a few days ago and it falls just past your shoulders. Your pointed little pixie face is calm and you are just starting to get darker summer freckles across your nose.

I think, "I don't hug you enough," and "when did you get so tall," and, "how did you get lipstick on your shoulder?"

Weird kid. I love you.