Happy Birthday, little (little little) girl. Olivia.
Can I start off by sayin' that your mama is the cat's pyjamas. She's allergic to cats but not their pyjamas. (I hate to burst your bubble wrap, beautiful, but that kitten you may want for Christmas one day is just not gonna happen). Your mama is my sister and I've known her since she was born too, so that's something you two will have in common. You're also both inordinately tough and impossibly pretty, both of which will serve you well. You're the most recent in a line of strong and clever women and we love you, tiny girl.
You're nine hours old and I haven't seen you yet. Only pictures. Is it weird that I already feel like I've known you forever and I've never even laid eyes on you? You've got furrowed eyebrows and fair hair like your great grandfather and I know he would just think that you hung the moon all by yourself and maybe you did.
I'm not gonna rabbit on but I want it in print, here today, this 26th day of November, 2013, the day you joined us two months early: I love you a zillion and there's nothing I won't do for you or your mama or your daddy. You will be surrounded by so much love. Your grandma and your great aunty Kath have been knitting the prettiest things anyone's ever seen. I am really good at planning treasure hunts and going for icecream so grow, grow, grow and we'll do it all! Get bigger and tougher and kick some ass, little lady.
From one moon-hangin' ranga to another. I love ya. GET BIG.