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Dear Allie,

Saturday, March 8th, you turn four at 8:01 in the morning. Should’ve been about a half hour earlier, but your c-section was delayed due to the doctor getting stuck behind a flock of turkeys on her way into the hospital that morning. I can’t make this stuff up.

You were born screaming, spent the first four months of your life screaming, and, in honesty, not much has changed.

You’re a girl that is going to be heard. I would say you’re a typical second child, or youngest child. You follow your sister around like the sun rises and sets on her. And while she screams at you incessantly to stop, I think she secretly likes the attention. You and your sister have a very close, very good relationship. Except for those times you rip what she’s playing with right out of her hands and then take off running like a bat out of hell because you’ve learned you can run much faster than your sister. And really, you don’t WANT what she’s playing with. You just want to harass her.

You’re my snuggly-bear. The second you wake up, you want to snuggle up in the chair with me, or on my lap, until I insist I must start my day. You give the best hugs, and wrap your whole body around a person, and nuzzle your head right into your shoulder. And even though you’re bordering on four, you talk me into carrying you lots.

You love to watch me cook, and you love to help create dinner. Though we’ve learned you would rather die than eat mushrooms and lima beans should not even be a food item, as far as you’re concerned.

You started dance this year and adore everything about it. You love your teacher, Miss Katie. You’ve made a new friend, Avery, and you have the cutest dance moves I think I’ve ever seen. You’re excited, but a little nervous and scared about the prospects of getting up on the stage in front of an audience and performing. It helps only slightly that I’ve told you that your sister will be back stage with you and will be right there for you (parents are not allowed backstage until the entire recital is over).

You’ve learned a lot of new words this year, and have begun to put your ideas together to form your own conversations. No one else actually has to participate in these conversations. You’re happy to have them all on your own.

You will start pre-school in the fall this year, and you’re also a little nervous and scared about that. While your sister dives head first into everything she does, with little to no fear, you are apprehensive about change. Once you know what to expect, you’re fine, but it’s the unknowing that unnerves you. You’re a lot like your mom that way.

We’ve had so much fun with you, Allie Elizabeth. You’ve been an adventure, and you certainly keep us on our toes. You’re full of life, full of energy, and full of zest. You’ve kept me on my toes as a parent. You don’t allow me to be lax at all. I love you, maniac. Thanks for being you!

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