Three Years

Baby Pushups
Three years is nothing more than a twitch of Father Time’s eyelid. And yet, three years can also feel like an eternity. It feels like both to me as we get ready to celebrate our daughter’s third birthday.

When I look back at myself three years ago it’s amazing how much I have learned. Back then, I knew nuthin’ about nuthin’. If I were making the decision right now about myself then, I would never allow myself to be in charge of a tiny infant. And yet, that’s what they did, and that’s how I learned.

It’s not really about me, though. It’s about my daughter. She shares her name with a Jane Austen novel, but that’s not where she gets her name. She gets her name from her great-grandmother (both of them if you consider her middle name). If she could be half the person as they were, she will be fine. She is well on her way.

Just today, after work, my daughter regaled me with a lovely rendition of an original song, titled “Friends”, which itself is a variation of her original work “Happy day.” “Happy day, happy day. Happy day, happy day.” Repeat at the top of your lungs.

Most days she makes my face hurt from laughter and my eyes tear with pride. Nearly every day she amazes me with her quick wit and her memory (far superior to mine). She is definitely a bundle of joy.

It seems like we went from being astonished she smiled, to her first wobbly steps, all the way to her counting to 30, in the course of an afternoon. We don’t have a baby anymore, that’s for sure. We have a little girl in the house. I have a feeling the rest of her life I’ll be running just to keep up with her.

Anyway, happy birthday my sweetie. I hope it gives you as much joy as you’ve given us.

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