Today, my baby girl turns 10. Although she thinks she's twenty-one in front of her friends; when she's with dad, she's back being my little girl. Much to her chagrin, she always will be.
If it was my son who convinced me to write things down, it would be my daughter, Riona who couldn't get enough of my stories at bedtime.
I'm sure part of her enjoyment revolved around the fact that she got to stay up an extra 30 minutes. But she would sit in her crib, and later her 'princess bed' wide-eyed for another installment of "Princess Riona and the (place fantasy creature/item here)"
I miss telling her those completely made-up-on-the-spot tales. Now she prefers to read before bed, just like her brother.
In a little over a week I fly down to get both my children for my summer visit (I'm divorced--they live with their mom). Tina and I will celebrate both their birthdays when I bring them back to Boston. But this very day, ten years ago. A beautiful baby girl was born.
Happy birthday Princess. I miss you terribly.
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