Remember when this sweet girl was born?
I do. It was 2:01 pm, July 19 2012. A beautiful, sunny summer day.
There was never a happier baby. Ever. She was and still is the coolest, chilliest, most calm baby I’ve ever known. She’s amazing, extraordinary, my Phoebe Bird.
She’s quiet, yet bright and cheery and loud. She’s shy, but also fearless and so inquisitive. Phoebe is all smiles, all cuddles, all love.
She’s warm and feisty, gentle and daring, gracefully covered in raspberries and oatmeal. She’s sunshine and laughter and if she could poop sparkles, she would.
Phoebe was born and she instantly fit in. She was like “Hey man, I’m just happy to be here, you guys seem alright, what’s the plan for today?”
Phoebe is eager and happy and hungry. She’s playful and funny and stuffed animals crack her up. She’s not fussy or picky, she’s my summer love, my hippie, my “Peace, man!” She’s my “Far out, dude!” My totally gnarly granola baby.
Lavendar lotion, fuzzy pyjamas and wisps of curls. She’s giggles and chubby knuckles and sparkling eyes. Kicking her legs, hands in her mouth, and then reaching for me.
Phoebe loves her Daddy, love his beard, loves squeezing his arm, loves listening to him play guitar. And she should, she was serenaded every night while she grew in me. My song bird, my hum a little tune. She is a walking chorus, bluegrass, a solo jazz quartet.
She’s a little sister, a side kick, a comrade. She’ll share things with Lily and hide things from Lily. They’ll be best friends and best enemies, pillars for each other, I gave them the bricks, together they will create mortar.
Tomorrow Phoebe is one. I love you, Pheebs.
This guy loves you a lot, too.