Deep breath.
I will not cry while writing this post.
Too late.
I love this sweet baby so much.
I love those chocolate eyes and the blond bangs that fall in her face but that she won't let me clip. And her big sister won't let me cut.
I love that she insists on starting and ending her days with a snuggle and she cups my face in her hands and tells me she loves me all day long.
I love that she says, "Thank you," as often as she says, "I love you."
I love that she wants to be held, to slow me down, to linger long here in babyhood, ever since the beginning.
I love that her whole world revolves around her daddy.
I love her as much as she loves egg nog.
I love to read her stories. The ones with princesses are best.
I love pink. It's our favorite color. (And Daddy's, too.)
I love that she calls her sisters "my girlies" and she's lonely without them.
I love that she calls her brothers "my boys-ees."
I love that she went to sleep last night in a princess dress and she told me she *had* to because it makes her look fabulosa. I love that I let her.
I love that Halloween will never be the same again, not since that miraculous night three years ago, when we received a sweet sugar sack, all five pounds of her, six weeks early.