You’re not a baby anymore, no matter how much you like to pretend otherwise. But at the beautiful age of three, I’m not quite sure what you are. There are times–like when you use big words or ask me what something means or get all your goods ready and put yourself in the car–that you just seem so grown up. And then there are other times, like when I get out of your sight (though, I assure you, you’re not out of mine). I see you turn and turn, your little lip dropping into a pout, your little voice crying out for “Mama,” your little tears streaming hot and quick. You are still so little, truly, just a baby girl who needs her mom. I guess no matter how big you get, you’ll always be a little of both.
Happy birthday, sweet girl. You can keep on growing up, but you’ll never outgrow my love.