A second birthday. My first daughter’s second birthday. My daughter’s first second birthday.
Not that she’s planning on having a second second birthday.
She’s smart and funny and cares about other people, and she also sometimes only likes them because they have macaroni.
She’s beautiful and perfect and I’m trying to teach her how to say “My irrational intractability is infuriating to my parents.”
She’s sweet and loves bedtime and hates being interrupted as she goes about her business.
She’s my daughter. She’s my first. She’s my baby girl. She is always my baby girl. Even when she tries to bite my face off or scratch my eyes out. She’s the most exuberant person I know.
Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.