Once upon a time, a beautiful and really rested and youthful looking queen was pregnant with a baby girl. Everyone in the kingdom was super excited, and the queen just glowed with happiness, as she already had two handsome princes who, while totally adorable and sweet, mostly liked playing video games and peeing in the toilet at the same time so they could sword fight and cross streams. The king, while dreamy and a good provider, had very little want or desire to discuss such woman things as spotty periods or Twilight or anal bleaching, which, at the time, was a very popular thing to do.

The queen dreamed of the day she and the princess would read fairytales before bedtime, brush each other’s hair, and spend their days shopping, having lunch, and getting pedicures just like Beyonce and her mom probably do between designing really gaudy and unflattering outfits.

Finally, the day arrived, and with a tiny magical giggle, the queen popped the princess out all shiny and sparkly and lovely, not covered in that ricotta cheese birth stuff, at all.

The kingdom rejoiced, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Oh also, the princess is super demanding, manipulative, and a touch unstable.

We are equal parts in love and absolutely terrified.

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But on the upside, I take no greater joy than witnessing a small version of myself march around my house, lighting up the room with one liners and I Love Lucy monologues, picking out all her own clothes (she changes 700 times a day) and melting Andy to a puddle of Axe smelling goo with her big brown eyes.

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Gigi, we’ve had you for three years, and we plan to adore you for at least a hundred thousand more.

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Happy 3rd birthday.

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