Dear Sarah,
This was you when you were a baby:
… and this was you this morning:
It’s been our tradition to serve a special birthday breakfast in bed. So this morning, at your request, you had a freshly-baked croissant, breakfast sausages, yogurt, and hot chocolate.
(I hope you always remember that I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. so I could take the croissants out of the freezer and give them sufficient time to defrost and rise before I got up a second time at 7:00 to bake them and make your breakfast.)
You’ve already opened your new Junior Scientist-style microscope and we’ve all looked at strands of our hair, the exoskeleton of an ant, and compared grains of table salt and sea salt. Your father is about to prick himself with a sewing needle so he can look at his own blood.
You and your sister are playing with the Playmobil guinea pigs she gave you. (The joke here is that you’re highly allergic to guinea pigs in real life and it makes you a bit sad knowing you’ll never be able to hold a guinea pig without breaking out in itchy hives.)
Sarah, you are a great girl. You have a wonderful sense of humour and you are a true friend of friends. You have a big big heart. You love to kiss and cuddle (although not so much with your sister) which is great because you are highly huggable. You don’t like to get out of bed in the morning. (In fact, I am your personal alarm clock. It takes a lot of hugging and kissing and prodding to get you out from under the covers.) You love to sing. You love to read, and you’re immensely proud of your goal to read every Beverly Cleary book at home and at school. Your creativity is a constant source of delight and amazement. Yesterday you made yourself an Easter basket out of an orange juice carton and some felt, and this year you achieved your lifelong dream of having a piece of your artwork displayed at the National Gallery. And if early results are any indication it looks like you’re going to be good in math too (you must get that from your GrandPapa).
Sarah, I wanted you to know that our lives are miles better simply because you are in it, and I hope you always know that. Thank you for being such a honey of a girl.
p.s. Daddy was slightly sorry that you were born on Masters weekend, but I think you’ve made up for it in spades.