On this day, seven years ago, you arrived – two weeks early. You’ve not been early for anything ever since.
You are my funny girl, my ray of feisty sunshine, my karate ninja, my pop diva.
You know your own mind & I love that.
You can now read (oh the places you will go!)
You are blissfully unaware of your beauty. Your exquisite almond eyes and deep red lips.
You love love love your “rocky” music. And you move like Jagger.
You are my concert companion: first Bruno Mars, then Maroon 5. (Sshhh, there’s more in store this summer!)
Your appetite has grown as your beautiful body (that I made) has lengthened & strengthened. But you still consume food molecule by molecule. Meatballs, Mac & cheese, milk and chocolate rule your world. You are a broccoli machine. But NO SAUCE. Sauce is evil.
Your remain loyal to your main man Optimus Prime, but welcome his pals from Hero Factory, Lego Chima, and Ninjago. And Pokemon, of course.
You still want to be vet when you grow up. Or a pop star. Or a normal person.
You’ve mostly conquered your fear of new toilets.
You still burp like a beer-swilling trucker. (Grown men have been known to snort with laughter upon hearing such sounds emanate from one so small and cute.)
I’m training you to load the dishwasher to my exacting standards (this thrills me!)
You still maintain a freakish mental database of everyone’s ages and birthdays.
Most of all, you love to snuggle and give the tightest hugs!
Happy 7th birthday, my T!