My little big daughter
I can barely believe it. The Happy Birthday song is starting. We are on the brink of living an essential moment. I gaze at you and ponder: What you do not know is the sheer cheerfulness that I felt when I glimpsed you. Not only was I on cloud nine, but also, I felt panic-stricken.
Never before had I looked after a baby and, all of a sudden, I became a mother. You were a preterm baby. You were too tiny. You could not be dressed in your mini pink cotton pajama. At this time, that all is over, I strongly deem, that something adverse would ensue to you.
The melody is ending, and you had better blow out the candles and make a wish, be that as it may, you are not able to do it. You are nothing but a one-year girl. I, mentally, make it for you: This is not just wishful thinking; In this day and age that you are competently fine, that we could triumph over all adversities, I want you to be elated and never lose that smile that gives meaning to my life. I love you, my baby! Happy birthday!