Dear Princess Butterfly,
I often complain that you won’t let me get any sleep. I often complain that you know exactly how to manipulate me. I often fear your teenage years, knowing that the lost sleep and manipulation will only increase exponentially. But goodness, it’s not possible to love you any more than I do. No matter what, you are so happy every morning. Even when you stay up until midnight watching Cinderella and I wake you up at 7, and all you really want to do is go back to sleep (I know this because you tell me “I want to still be sleeping.”) (Me too, kid.) you still have a smile on your face and a giggle on the tip of your tongue. When I’m cooking dinner and you come up to me from behind and bury your face in my butt and say “I love you Mommy” it melts my heart! (At least I’m pretty certain the muffled words you are saying are “I love you.” I could be wrong but since you end it with a kiss on my butt I think I’ve got it right.) You squeal, you jump (off of EVERYTHING), you giggle until you pee
in my utensil drawer on my coffee table. You are perfect. I hope that you always keep your spirit and your love of adventure. (Please don’t take up rock climbing, I don’t think I could handle that.) You are so much like your Aunt Victoria. Sometimes I want to smack you, but mostly I just want to squeeze you and never let you go. (Even when you get naked for the 3rd time in 20 minutes.) (What’s with that?)
So Babe, Princess Butterfly, or whatever else you decide to call yourself. I love you. You bring a smile to my face and make me want to smack you. You are lucky you are so darn cute!
(Why did you start calling me Mama? We've never used it before. Very random.)