It’s 4:47 PM. You are officially 3 years old.
Have I ever told you how much I wanted you? How much I desperately wanted you? How much I needed to have you with every cell in my body?
You name is not meant to be religious. Grace as an action, not a state of being. I meant it as beauty and light and movement. You know what though? You are my grace, my gift from God. You are my proof that He exists.
You run through this world now with such confidence and speed. You take death-defying leaps off furniture and climb nerve-racking heights up ladders. You know the world is yours for the taking, with the wide eyes and unfettered dreams of a child to make it happen.
You are 3 years old. Still in need of my snuggles and help with juice cups, but no longer my baby.
Strong and polite. Mischievous and independent. Proud and beautiful.
Perfect in every way.
Happy Birthday my Love!