Hey! Zoe and Lucy turned four yesterday! Four! That’s years people. Four years old. Like, the length of a seemingly endless presidential term. Or the presumed duration of college.
One day they’re babies. Like this:
The next day, they’re old. Like this:
Zoe and Lucy, thank you for making these past four years more fun than any presidential term and more sleepless than college. I love who you are growing up to be: voracious in your quest to understand the world, astounding in your ability to surprise me anew every day. You are funny, loving, unique and totally, completely insane. It is said that hallucinogens tap into hitherto unused areas of your brain, seemingly awakening it to worlds it was previously unaware of*. Lucy and Zoe, you have had a similar effect on my heart. It seems there’s a world of emotions (both high and low) of which I was previously unaware. How did I fall into this world, and how can I arrange to stay here, with you, forever? I am grateful to you for allowing me entree, and I am hopeful that we have a million more years together. These four have been remarkable beyond belief.
*(Not that I would know anything firsthand about hallucinogens. Hi Mom! Dad!)
*(Also, apologies to anyone I have offended with my sentence-ending preposition. It’s an already clunky sentence that became offensively wonky when written correctly.)