Eighteen years ago, this picture was taken.
It was the first time I saw you, the first time I held you, or any newborn for that matter. I remember babysitting you for the first time and going into a panic when you got hiccups that would not go away.
I remember taking pictures of you at inconvenient moments such as this, and then holding my nose as I changed your diaper afterward.
I remember your unnatural love of Winnie the Pooh and Barney. I remember accidentally breaking the "rumbly in my tumbly" squeak in your Pooh doll on Christmas and never being able to get the Barney "I Love You, You Love Me" song out of my head.
I remember going to Ireland with you for the first time and thinking: God, I really hope Grandpa Benny's gun isn't loaded.
I remember how "helpful" you were when I moved. It was great to have you there, but -- girl -- you seriously need to work on your bathtub-cleaning skills.
I remember taking you canoeing for the first time. Your reaction to the luxurious bathroom accommodations was priceless and you were *really* instrumental in getting us 15 miles downstream. I won't even dare tell the story of how you nearly killed me and your mom on the drive home.
Oh, and I remember doing my best to replace the Winnie the Pooh doll I had "destroyed" so many years earlier.
Happy 18th. I love you as if you were my own.
(P.S.: You may want to kill me right now, but at least I didn't post the nekkie bathtub pictures!)