Who is really, in all honesty, not much of a baby anymore, but a running, jumping, talking, sassing bundle of frenetic energy, sweet smiles, and (not-so-occasional) willful tantrums. But in my eyes, you are still my baby girl. I still remember your tiny fist wrapped instinctively around mine, the feel of your fuzzy head when I was finally allowed to touch you in the NICU, the heavy weight of your sleeping body on my shoulder.
I still get glimpses of this baby as you hold my hand, curl against me, or reach your arms up for a hug. I marvel at the way these details seem to have expanded and morphed into the toddler you have become. I wonder how they will expand and morph further as time passes, if I will always be able to imagine peeling back the layers to see the spot where we once began.
Happy birthday, K. I love you, as always, for everything you were, are, and ever will be.
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