Today you are four years old. I can hardly call you a baby anymore. I don't think toddler quite describes you anymore either.
I think you've moved clearly and swiftly in to the "little girl" category.
I could go on for hundreds, thousands of words about how much you've developed this year: by physical, emotional and intellectual leaps and bounds.
But, I'll spare you the growth chart. I think I'll keep it short and sweet this year:
Pumpkin, Muffin, Sweetheart, Honey, My Love,
You are my life. You are my hope, my joy, my frustration, my know-it-all. You are my buddy, my nemesis, my partner, my super hero. You are my slow-poke, my elocutionist, my logic, my grey hair. You are my mess-ups, my do-overs and my I'm-sorry's. You are my philosopher, my engineer, my scientist. You are my artist, my cartwheel, my quiet time, my home.
You are resilient and brave. You are sweet and sour. You are truth and un-truths and technicalities. You are independent and wiped-away-kisses and secretly whispered I love you's. You are conductor and orchestra, you are adagio and piano, and every single note there is. You are sensitive and strong. You are omnipotent and temperate and precocious. You are my Why and How Come? You are my beginning, my end, my eternity and forevermore.
And I love you no matter what.
With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.
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