Dear Smella,

Today you turn three. I've been doing that thing all day where I go, "And this time three years ago, I was at my weekly doctor's appointment or driving to the hospital..." Right now, at this time three years ago, I was probably still in the process of answering all of those admittance questions, hanging out in my hospital gown, a bundle of nerves and excitement. You were born a little after 10 PM. An easy labor and delivery, all pink (and a little cheesy) and adorable.


You've changed so much in the past year. You've perfected screaming. You've learned that by screaming, almost anyone will do anything you want to make you stop. You know how to count to eight. I no longer have to buy diapers for two babies. You finally had enough hair to cut! You know how to use those dimples and blue eyes to their full advantage.


You adore your brothers. Big D can make you giggle faster than anything, and Boobers is a constant source of practicing all your empathy and mothering skills. I know that if Boobers needs anything, you'll be first in line to help. As the only baby girl, you're equally adored, and will probably always be the go-between.


You had a blast at your party on Saturday. You reveled in the fact that everyone in the room was singing to you, and you had enough steam to blow out all three candles by yourself. You were so proud of yourself, and I was of you too.


I adore you. I love the conversations we have on a daily basis. Like, "You have to work today? But I don't want you to! I neeeeed you here!" I adore your screaminess, your fierce determination, your utter stubbornness, your dimples and your crazy blond curls. You're my only, my most wanted, my lovely baby girl. Happy birthday.

Love,

Mom