It’s her birthday, and I intend to upload photos from tonight’s much-anticipated party. Till then, here a few from the last couple of years, including one taken today: with birthday cake batter upon cheeks. Fooey was born when our family was transitioning between old-fashioned film and digital, and her babyhood was therefore cheated of in-depth recording. Plus, she was so incredibly cute that no photograph could truly capture her charms: the bald head, the toothless grin, the joyous spirit. She surprised us by arriving fifteen days early; we hadn’t even picked out her first name. She remains a commanding presence in our lives, chatty, vivid, opinionated, creative in her clothing choices, always colourful. She’s spent the last few days announcing, with great seriousness, to anyone who would listen: “It’s almost my birthday.” Yes, it is. Here we are. Happy birthday, youngest daughter. You are loved, loved, loved.