Ethne Anne,

You are one year old today. Over the last twelve months you’ve cried, pooped, cried, crawled, laughed, learned a couple words and thousands of sounds, broken my heart, made my day, learned to walk and smeared peas, eggs, carrots, soup, tomatoes, cottage cheese, oatmeal and yogurt all over your face, hands, table and chair. You are amazing.

Some people believe in love at first sight. Some of those have a reason for thinking it might exist. Their reason: babies. You emerged headfirst from the birthing canal a writhing mess of skinny appendages dripping with blood jelly. But in spite of your mind-splitting scream and the fact that you looked like a smash-faced little Asian baby, I knew in an instant that I would lie down in front of a bus full of elephants to spare you that moment of confusion and pain.

I love you, little girl. Happy Birthday.

Dad

[occasionally known to you as Dada, Daddy, Dah-eee, the sound you make when you stick out your tongue and/or the waving of your tiny little arms.]