Dear Baby Girl, Yes, I realize you’ve been tall enough to ride Space Mountain for the past few years, but you will always be my baby.
My first born. The one who made me a mother. The first to know what my heartbeat sounds like from the inside. You have my freckles, my blue eyes, and sensitive (yet fierce) disposition.
Much to my dismay, you also have my anxiety disorder. Well, I mean, you have your own anxiety disorder — but I often wonder which of my genes is to blame.
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