You cried at your three year old birthday party that we shared with your best friend (because she’s the daughter of mommy’s good friend and has an older sister the same age as girl1) because you didn’t want to play the dress up game.
Which is so strange because Kenny, who is infecting you with Ultraman, was going to be your partner. And you love games and performing.
In that cute floaty purple dress you stood there, hair curling from sweat on this hot day in Portland, and it made me remember that you’re still only three.
You’re small and young. But you make me forget that because you’re so smart, and outgoing. And you climb trees and dress yourself and do other things girl1 didn’t do at this age.
And you’re so tough, I don’t worry about you running with the boys, and you’re so sweet, it’s you who runs up to grandma or baba and kisses them or cries for daddy at night.
I love you, and you’re my baby.