First, you were born.
Then, you grew tall, grew smart, and grew an attitude. When you woke up this morning, you were super grumpy. I tried to sing “Happy Birthday” to you, but you refused at first. When I pouted, you heaved a sigh and reluctantly permitted me to do so but interrupted me one stanza in by barking an order to rub your tummy, “GIMME RUBBIES!” You staggered downstairs for your morning cuppa joe, plopped down on the sofa, and demanded to watch “The Jungle Book” because the only thing that was going to get you moving this morning was a rousing rendition of “The Bare Necessities” or “I Wanna Be Like You“, NOT, apparently, sung by yours truly. You perked up after your brother made his appearance and together you cuddled and quarreled and made crumbs all over the place.
You are a tyrant bent on total world domination (I hope this princess obsession eases up this year) and, just as equally, a loving nurturer cooing over any small hurt suffered by another (complete with ‘tsk’s and bringing over of Corny, the Unicorn pillow and Hello Kitty blanket). I love the way you have mastered the dramatic shuddering crying jag worthy of any soap opera actress. I love the way you repeat everything your brother says a millisecond after he does including the cackles over fart jokes and actual farts. I love the way you fall asleep at night (a) with your palms facing each other and tucked under your cheeks and (b) all by yourself. I love you, mushkadoo.