Amanda Faucett

Today, you are six.

You, the one who made me a mother.

You, the one who turned life as we knew it upside down and inside out.

You, the one who sat up, pulled up, and took your first steps, all between 7 and 8 months – and haven’t slowed down since.

You, who knows just which buttons to push – and have finally figured out how to use your charm to try to get yourself out of trouble. (By the way, your sister figured that out well before she was 2.)

You, who have never met a stranger and who impresses everyone you meet with your extensive vocabulary and wise-beyond-your-years comments.

You, who loves Star Wars, Transformers, anything with wheels or wings, Wii, and playing outside – but will still sit next to your little sister on the couch and watch Dora with her.

You, who are grumpy as anything when you get off the bus after school because you ate lunch at 11 a.m. (yep, you got that from me).

You, who asks more questions than I can answer.

You, who looks just like me on the outside but who is just like your father on the inside.

You, who are persistent as anything – except when it comes to reading.

You, who after your grandfather’s funeral a couple of months ago, wrote a book (in your own way, of course) about what you had experienced over those few days. You titled it Cold Winter Book.

You, who melts my heart on a daily basis.

Today, you are six – and I could not be more grateful for you, my first baby, my world. I love you.