Tomorrow my little girl turns 3. Three. That’s just ridiculous.
She’s spunky and hilarious and all kinds of sweet.
She loves animals and jewellery and strawberries and movies and princesses and her big brother “Jusses”.
She can’t turn down a request for a kiss, no matter what.
She thinks 5’s and 2’s are S’s, she can count to 12, she knows all her ABC’s and shapes, but not her colours.
She calls my Dad “Gramma” (on purpose).
She has her daddy’s sense of humour and regularly cracks me up.
She races to the door to give Jon a kiss and a hug before he leaves for work each day, and is heartbroken if she misses him.
She tells me things are “so buuuutiful” and “rewey cool” and “that’s amasing”.
She likes her nails touched up after every bath while she watches Rapunzel and cuddles in my bed.
She “pets” babies.
She splashes in every puddle and watches every bug.
Her little arms give the warmest hugs and the words “I love you” leave her lips a hundred times every day.
She’s a June Bug and there is no one else like her in all the world.
I’m glad you’re mine, baby girl.