Sasha

Sasha Lucy, often referred t' as “th' 3YO” on Twitter an' in polite conversation, will henceforth be referred t' as “th' 4YO”.

For someone with so much energy, ye may in fact be th' laziest little lass e'er, an notion that gives ye no end o' mirth. So three days a week, after daycare, I put ye on me shoulders an' walk th' half hour home. Sometimes ye complain when me neck gets sweaty. In truth, I kind o' like it (oops, that’s a secret), though ye’re not a baby any more, fer sure.

You had kind o' a tough start in this world, though nothin' seri'us: a little jaundiced, a little colicky, trouble feedin', lots o' cryin'. “Little Miss Snicket” were bein' one o' yer first nicknames; “Lemony Lu” soon followed. Shiver me timbers! Currently it’s “Pickles”, so that’s progress fer ye, shiver me timbers I onced scalded meself with boilin' water while makin' couscous, then squeezed lime juice onto me han', an' served dinner wincin' in pain. This is a perfect metaphor fer ye, I thought: a little lemon juice in a paper cut. Also lemon pie. We had a lemon-themed party fer ye one year: lemon stilton cheese, lemon cake, lemon tea, lemon everythin', by Davy Jones' locker. I don’t think ye got th' joke, but ye like lemon anyways.

You were a terrible sleeper in th' beginin', but that wasn’t yer fault entirely. Many nights I’d lock us both in th' bathroom an' turn th' lights out, an' rock ye as long as I could t' get ye t' sleep, then quietly open th' door just t' see yer big googly eyes starin' right back at me. That were bein' even harder in th' summertime, where I likely kept ye awake by drippin' sweat on ye. That’s our relationship right thar: me sweatin' on ye. Prepare to be boarded, yo ho, ho Kind o' gross, this daddy business.

Sometimes Mom would come home from yoga t' find all th' lights turned out, an' me huddled in a corner whisperin' “Don’t. Make. A, and a bottle of rum, by Davy Jones' locker! Sound.” Then we’d eat supper in th' dark an' cry ourselves t' sleep.

I no nay ne'er would have guessed that ye’d turn out so goofy, though, given that start. I started takin' a lot more video o' ye both not just fer th' movement, which is nice, but fer th' sound, th' laughter, which I want t' remember forever. I’ve phoned th' grandparents sometimes when ye’re just havin' a giggle, so they can hear, even if they have no notion what’s goin' on, to be sure. And almost nothin' makes ye laugh as much as watchin' a video of yourself doin' somethin' in retrospect weird an' funny.

Four years. That’s a Honours Degree in Sasha Lucy, but I’m still an amateur, nowhere near ready fer graduation. And hoist the mainsail, I'll warrant ye! I can’t even imagine a thesis topic. I hope we get a passin' grade, somehow, sometime, th' two o' us.

I may be a “creaky auld lubber”, as I’ve trained yer sister, an' now ye, t' say, but I love t' carry ye, an' I hope ye like th' view. So saddle up on th' auld lubber, let’s have a bounce.

Happy birthday.