Next year, when you're 3, you'll spend most of the day reminding me of that fact, and wondering why I'm not more impressed.
In three years, when you're 5, you'll pick out what you want to wear for the day, and will be quite happy to pose for pictures.
In eight years, when you're 10, whatever books we give you, you'll read yourself.
In eleven years, when you're 13, there might be boys at your party.
In fourteen years, when you're 16, you'll be mad that we didn't get you a car. Or perhaps worse, you'll be happy we did.
In sixteen years, when you're 18, you probably won't spend your birthday with us at all.
But this year, balloons were still the highlight of your day, the welfare of dolls was still (occasionally) a concern, empty pots and pans contained gourmet cuisine, and it's OK that somehow the best picture Daddy managed to get of the two of you alone, together, was at 8:30 in the morning, watching Olivia in your pajamas.
Happy Birthday, Kayla and Megan
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