You are the consummate tomboy insisting on styling in your brothers boardies and rashies each and every day, changing into a new set at 20 minute intervals.
When socialisation becomes too much to handle you quietly remove yourself, preferring to sit quietly, chattering away to your toys and teddies and engaging in elaborate imaginative play.
A gaggle of 'your guys' follow you everywhere. A small Thomas the Tank Engine, a soft stuffed Captain Barnicles and a handful of Fireman Sam figurines. You're not fancy, you like things 'labeled' and easily collectable from Kmart. At times I'll find them carefully lined up on your bedroom floor and lovingly wrapped in discarded face washers all ready for bed. Other times you'll follow me around the house with arms laden, pretending to 'shoosh shoooosh' them to sleep.
You have short legs and dead straight hair just like your mumma.
When your dad and I ask you for a kiss, it's guaranteed to be passionate. You grab our whole heads with vigour and plant delicious kisses somewhere in the vicinity of our lips, but anywhere will do really.
Your voice is unusually husky.
You love sleep like a teenager.
When you loose your temper you do so with splendid extravagance. A shrill voice and steaming red face accompany stomping feet and bulging vein through your forehead.
Sometimes I still have to pinch myself. I can't believe I was blessed enough to get you, a daughter.
I'll be a very happy woman if you grow to love me as much as I love my own mother.
I'm filled with hope for your future. A future that I pray for daily.
Sometimes once I've tucked you and your siblings in for the night, kissed your plump lips and brushed the hair from your foreheads, I'm left breathless by your beauty.
I love you.
Happy 3, my little Pip.