My baby isn't a baby anymore. For one thing, this year, she happily and oh-so-lovingly became a big sister. Secondly, she took some huge steps in the growing-up department. So much so that I have to remember her actual age when she starts having a bad day. Oh, right, you're four. Not seven, not sixteen. Four. And five follows four perfectly. As much as she wishes she were older, she also tells me how she never wants to grow up. And that seems to best describe Josephine, growing up and out and with some serious style, all while digging in deep, needing her family, her securities, our love and care. Happy birthday, Josie-Boo. What would I do without you?