My daughter turned three today. She woke up and said, “Happy birthday, myself.”
The last three years have been an all-consuming tumult of joy and disruption. I did not realize the depths of my self-centeredness until someone entered it who demanded or called for my attention in every moment. She is the joy of my life and worth every bit of trouble and the much, much more trouble I know is to come. She flits a spark of mirth and hearth that drives your legs in the bitter cold to push every step until you arrive safely at home, to protect her, to laugh beside her, to hang colors all over the walls with her.

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