Seventeen years ago today, my baby sister came into this world, and it really hasn't been the same since.
In her seventeen years, she has been an author (she penned many short stories ripe with teenage angst when she was in middle school, and she still writes a mean blog entry), an explorer (she got lost six blocks from our home once when she tried to run away. I hope the Army teaches her how to use a compass), a counselor (from the time she was a small child and would put her tiny little hands on your face and ask you to stop crying with her big brown eyes, to when she became older and "more worldly" and offered to bust some kneecaps when people hurt the ones she loved), and a teacher (my sister has so much spirit and fortitude, it's hard not to be inspired, much less completely in awe of her).
She wrestles, she's in charge of the entire city's JROTC program, and she knows how to shoot a gun. Even though fashion-wise I sometimes have to help her a little bit (like suggesting that perhaps she wax her eyebrows instead of shaving them), she's still the only person I'd ever want in my dressing room (sometimes holding my latte).
As she gets older, she's stopped being my pesky little sister, and has started being my ally and confidante. I can't believe that the tiny little thing with curls who used to crawl around with socks in her mouth has become the young woman I saw this past Christmas, with an acceptance letter to West Point (but she still can't drive...).
Even though she can't eat any cake today (she's cutting weight), I hope it's still a good birthday.
I ♥ you, Awbs! Even though I had to leave a birthday party the day you were brought home from the hospital! (Don't worry, I made you pay)
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