Eight years ago today, a little girl that weighed just a hair over six pounds came into this world.
Mom doesn't really remember, though - she was pretty doped up on her epidural.
But I became a proud daddy that day.
In the eight years I've known you:
1) You've floored me with your incredible memory and intellect.
2) You've made me bawl like a baby at your Kindergarten graduation, your first dance recital, and at the end of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" every time they "MOVE THAT BUS!"
...wait...one of those might not be right.
3) You made your mother and I want to kill each other for your first 18 months...
...where you would sleep a grand total of 4 hours a day and scream bloody murder the rest...because you had colic.
I hate colic.
How we managed to agree on a second kid after all that, I have NO idea.
By the way...thanks for letting me and mom sleep in until 6:00 a.m. this morning.
That was refreshing.
4) You've made me proud to call you my daughter, and completely forget those first 18 months.
If I could do it over exactly - colic and everything - and wind up with the same little girl, I totally would.
5) You made me realize how much I hate being an hour away at my job when you fell and broke your wrist last month.
Never before had I wanted to have a hood-mounted canon on my car more than that day.
Well - once before...but only because I was behind someone that resembled Rachael Ray.
6) You've successfully stolen the pet name "Princess" from your mother.
I now refer to mom as "shnookums," "hey you," and occasionally "guacamole."
I think she wants "Princess" back.
She's not getting it. We'll have to work on something else.
7) You've gotten somehow more beautiful the older you get.
I'm not quite clear on how that's possible, but I'm completely fearful of the boys who will - eventually - come knocking at the house...and having to deal with me.
You might want to keep your relationships a secret.
Just another helpful tip from Daddy.
I love you, Princess.