No matter how big she gets,
or how smart;
No matter how dramatic she gets,
She'll always be my baby.
Even when she spends an hour before bed putting on a spoken word poetry jam about "The Wicked Angel Satan" who dressed up in a snake costume and took away Adam and Eve's perfect happiness complete with arm waving and snaps at strategic intervals, with certain words punctuate by a dramatic pose. And then quizzes me on the content of her poetry. And tells me "Thanks for stepping up!" because I "volunteered" after she said "Anyone in the room want to tell me what that poem was about? In detail?"
She cracks me up.
