Dear Baby Alice,
My sweet girl. You took your first trip around the sun.
One year ago, on 11/24/11, you shot into this world fast and furious. My labor to deliver you was painful. My work to hold you and love you and raise you is joy.
You are the last baby for us. You have made us a complete set. (I stole that from Toy Story 2, for the record.)
I wanted a son and a daughter so badly. From the moment I knew I wanted kids (and I'm not exactly sure when that moment was), I knew I wanted one of each. Brother and sister. Thank you, sister, for coming into our world.
You remind me of my Mom, Linda. Not physically. No, no. You are all Rich Phee in the looks department. But sometimes the little expressions you make. Or the way you sit. You just . . . do.
You are teaching Charlie to share. And my heart to share. For that, I thank you.
You rocked most developmental milestones. Sat up and rolled early. Walked at 10 months. I expected all of that from you. I have great expectations for you, Alice. For both you and your brother. They are as follows:
1. Be kind.
2. Be happy.
You are still drinking from bottles. During the day and night. I will probably let you do it until you're 2. Or maybe 12. We'll see.
Have I mentioned yet that you are a trouble maker? Yeah, you are. Electrical outlets are your favorite. Pinching your fingers in drawers. Pulling things over. Making messes. Tisk, tisk girlie.
You share your Dad's sense of humor. Pretty much anything and everything is funny. And nothing really bothers you. (Unlike Charlie and I. When we're serious, don't mess with us.)
Just the other night, you let me rock you in this chair like a tiny infant again. I sang "You are my sunshine" to you as you kicked your little feet against my side. You did the same thing 1 year ago in the hospital. Just you and me, baby girl. You, me and that song.
Happy birthday, sunshine. Keep on growing.
I love you.