I shouldn't be surprised that it has come to pass already; I have rushed your growth from the day you were born. It hasn't been fair of me, but it is the truth.
You are my first, for better or worse.
I rely on you,
I get by on you,
I scold you when I should hold you.
You're a mother hen, a gem, a wild one and a mild one.
You are a big sister, a baby kisser, a boo-boo mender, and befriender.
You're long-legged, warm-hearted, and you've just started.
You are nine, you are very fine, and you are mine.
Happy Birthday, Francie. We love you.