Of COURSE we think you are the cutest, sweetest, bestest baby there ever was. So we'll just skip over that part.
Once every couple of days, we'll make you laugh and then your Dad and I repeat whatever encouraged the laughter approximately four million times while you look at us with increasing disdain. "Who are these people?" I can almost hear you thinking. Sorry to tell you, you're stuck with us.
You love books and even when you're getting a bit fussy, you'll lay quietly on the floor and let me read you three or four books without complaint. I am now going crazy checking out board and picture books from the library. Thank heavens your presence in our family extended my checkout limit to 45 books at a time. Otherwise, you'd be forced to live like those children in the olden days and have only a single solitary book throughout your childhood (and it would probably be from your Grancie).
You love the bathtub, kicking your legs and looking very intent as if churning a small whale-tub full of water was your full-time job, but what you really love love love is the bath mat on the floor. I left you lying there yesterday for a moment when I went into the bedroom and when I came back you weren't trying to lick your fingers or stare at your hands like you often do when you are on your own. Instead, you had your hands palm-down on the rug and were stroking it. Oh, how I laughed.
I assume that most parents hope their child will inherit the best qualities of each parent, and you really hit the jackpot, little girl. Both your dad and I occasionally drool in our sleep, and you are the lucky recipient of that gene in abundance. You are so welcome.
Before you were born, I really felt like I had no preference whether I had a boy or a girl. But now, I can't imagine having wanted anything but a girl, anyone but you. I find myself saying to you the same thing my dad used to say to me, from one of our family-favorite movies, "I wouldn't trade you for a dozen boys."