This year my tiny baby with deep, curious eyes has grown into a little girl. She spends her days doing all things pretend-play and all things artsy and anything else she dreams up as long as she can do it all on her own. Soon after her second birthday we moved into our first house which brought many adventures along with it, including emergency wild-life removal, explosive sewage, and two trips to the ER. Despite having a stay-at-home dad (the best SAHD, I would say), she continues to morph into her mother. May's opinions are definitive and important, her stories animated and verbose, and her fine motor skills are precise and perfectionistic while her gross motor skills are... uncoordinated at best. Her favorite day each week is when she gets to put on her beloved kitty-cat "pack pack" and go to Mom's school to play, teach, and learn from some of Mom's preschool students with autism. She would probably tell you that the highlights of her year include dressing up like Yoda for Halloween, moving into a queen-sized bed, anticipating her little brother's arrival, visiting her grandparents throughout the year, and wearing her turquoise and silver-glitter Frozen shirt with her bedazzled, cheetah-print sneakers complete with hot pink bows.
Three years later and I still stare at her the same way I did when I first met her face-to-face: amazed and grateful that she's my daughter.
