I've been hearing that often lately. Three. It's a big number. Today was supposed to be her birthday, but due to a person beyond my control, Casey was born on good old 9/11. It's okay. I'm sure the kids born on Pearl Harbor Day had to deal with some headaches for the first few years. To me, it's a way to put a bright spot on a dreary day. It's what she tends to do anyway. I always say that my darkest cloud brought me the brightest silver lining.
It hasn't been easy. That's a definite. I suppose it never really is. Four of my friends became parents this year, and each couple has their own fears and struggles to deal with. In a way, it's exciting to see them learn the way I am. In the end, they'll all be the best parents that their kids could ever hope for.
I don't need to make this long or drawn out. It's a simple thing. I'm lucky. I have something special. She's smart. I guarantee that she'll outsmart me by the time she's eight, and I'll be proud when it happens. She's funny. She knows how to make me laugh, and her timing isn't too bad. She's beautiful. That means I will have a crazy eye twitch once she's in high school. It's worth it. She's the best part of me, and I'm looking forward to year four.