This was like, last week, right?  Or not.  Baby Moira whose neonatal nurse sang to her, "Moira, Moira, more-a beautiful than all the other babieeeess."  (Hey, true story. I don't make the news, I just report it.)  My girl who was game for anything from day one. Brave, adventurous, caring. And always smiling. Always smiling. 

She was her sister's little shadow and our best ranch hand. She has climbed mountains (on two continents) and milked goats and bottle fed kittens and road ponies over the plains.  She has competed all over Europe and played the piano and stood looking out from atop the Eiffel Tower. She has renested baby birds and taught tiny people to dance.  And take selfies. 'Cause this is the twenty tens or whatever. and now…..

She's all grown up, folks.  It happened.  18. Which means that fully half our big, crazy group of kids are now adults.   Or alternately, that we have a whole 'nuther set to raise up.  I prefer that last interpretation, though honestly every step has been fascinating in it's own right, watching them unfold and grow.

She came to Europe as a very new teen. She leaves a high school senior with a whole new life ahead in a new country. Plans for the next year are still coming together. Whatever they are they will definitely be sparkly and exciting and big.  

She will always be my baby Moira though.  Always.  The girl with the smile.