My sweet baby girl, you are smiling, laughing, cooing and squealing your way through life.  At only nine months old, you haven’t seen much, but you are tickled by it all.  I joke that you must dream of unicorns and rainbows, because I can put you to bed giggling and you will go to sleep that way.  I pray that it’s true.

I remember worrying, how would we make sure you would feel special?  I worried because I had found it challenging in the first months of your brother’s life, trying to console a baby and myself through long nights and days.  How could I make you happy?

And then, the day came when we would no longer be a family of three, but of four!  Oh, the excitement.  And what an entrance!  Ten days late, everyone on pins and needles, doctors muttering dire warnings of induction.  It was unnerving, but so exciting. I kept feeling as though if I could just talk to you, I could let you know it was time, that we were so happy the day was finally here.

It took us a few days to notice, and in truth a couple of weeks before we could really put our finger on it.  I had made you a safe little place to lay on blankets in our family room, and lay there you did, eyes bright, just watching.  I tried to remember if your brother had done the same.  Both of you were very alert and bright-eyed from birth, but you seemed so calm.  You didn’t fret to be left alone; it was as though you already knew you were safe and that we were close by. 

Time passed, and you smiled early, and giggled.  You slept well, ate well and grew like a beautiful wild weed.  I started calling you the happiest baby on the planet.  I told people I could have three babies like you in the house and be perfectly content.  I was proud that you slept “like you were going pro”.  It was all true.  You learned to laugh, to play, to watch, to explore.  You got excited over everything, and started greeting us with a smile when we came to rouse you from sleep.  You were happy.

Now I start to see the little girl you will soon be, my sweet baby.  You are ticklish, silly and love when we try to make you laugh.  You squeal when you are excited and you giggle and chortle when we play.  You are delighted by your big brother, and he is already devoted to you.  You charm anyone who gives you a smile when you are in the carseat or stroller, giving easy grins to strangers and showing off your double chins.

And I have come to realize that it is my job to make room for your happiness, to encourage it, to love it and celebrate it…but that it is not my responsibility to create it.  You do that all by yourself.  All I need to do is get out of the way.  You are happy.

I love you, my sweet sunshine girl.  Your happiness has allowed me to become the mom I so badly wanted to be the first time around.  We laugh together all day long.  And that makes you the most special, happy baby around.