My Littlest Mayor: My only Sunshine

 My little and youngest cherub also known as "The Baby" entered this world with a full head of dark hair, the rosiest cheeks, and the most beautifully red lips, of which Snow White would be jealous. "Easy baby" doesn't even begin to come close to describing her — she arrived in this cold, complex world to make everything effortlessly bright and joyful. Cute doesn't scratch the surface. Clever? Emotionally intelligent? Absolutely. She's all that and more.

She has an incredible knack for giving. She consistently dips into her own money box to buy gifts for her older sister just to see her smile. And it's not just a one-off; it's her way of being. I have a collection of love letters, drawings, and hearts from her that tree environmentalists would rightly question how many trees were sacrificed—but each one is priceless.

The popularity of this kid astounds me. She gets called constantly for playdates and visits; our door has a revolving sign just for her. I call her the "Mayoress" as we walk down our sleepy suburban high street, and every shop owner greets her with a smile (and a treat). She's magic and just pure gold.

She cannot see how amazing she is. This is my only complaint. She's dealt with some pretty awful blows in her young life, and the world has cruelly demanded too much, yet she goes to bed smiling and wakes up happy.

I look at her in awe. We'll weather a storm, and she's already singing before you have time to catch your breath. As someone generally donned in black, with suspicion and cynicism as my coat of armor—there are days I stare at her behind my dark sunglasses and wonder, really?
How does she do it?

She sees right through people, and it's obvious—and then she still smiles despite the darkness. I want her to know there's magic in the world somewhere.

I admire her so deeply. Time never feels like enough when it comes to being with her—to bask in her presence, her soul that radiates warmth, humor, and brilliance. I adore her. I can't fathom that I brought her to life, as she brings me and everyone else oxygen or, in reality, happy laughing gas. I mean, I'm her number-one fan! I want to wear a giant foam finger that says, "Best Kid Ever."

She is my sunshine, shade on scorching days, water when I'm parched, and inspiration in the dark. She is everything.

This is my artist, mathematician, scientist, therapist, cook, and entertainer. She is a true gift, and while I dote on her with love and admiration, I want the world to give back what she asks the universe for—because there are things I can't provide but things she absolutely and truly deserves.

My littlest Mayoress, you are my world.



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