Today's your third birthday. Three years ago I marveled at the difference I felt between giving birth to a boy and a girl. I still marvel at that difference, nearly every day.
If there was ever a girl who was made of sugar and spice, it was - and is - you. You are feisty and sassy and silly and sensitive. You are downright hilarious when I least expect it. You mimic your older brother, dote on your baby sister, happily share your toys (most of the time), and talk about your best friend Gracie if you haven't seen her for a day.
We call you our dancer girl. You dance your way through life, twirling in church and swinging your hips, shaking your limbs without caring who's watching. I love that about you. You ask me constantly for ballet lessons, and I really better get on that.
You're the early riser of the family. I see your face by the side of the bed and if Dad's already gone, you ask, "Is Daddy at work?" hoping you can climb onto his pillow next to me. You love makeup and nail polish and dresses and "girl colors." You sing all the time. You'll eat almost anything I give you, which I'm VERY grateful for on days when Will is especially stubborn about food.
You want to grow up fast, and it seems that you are. When you tell me you want to be a mom, I'm pretty sure that just means you want to be a grownup. Still, I don't mind saying that a mom is the best thing to be. Motherhood makes you something greater than yourself.
I love you fiercely, my Emma. I think that's the only way to love you.