To my Mini-Me

Do you remember when we were little? You used to copy EVERYTHING I did or mimic EVERYTHING I wore.

I was so mad that day you came home with an identical haircut to mine. I raged when you simply had to build your Polly Pocket city on the exact same rug that I was building mine on. I walked away from you when you announced that your tummy hurt, too, and you also needed the day off school.

You were my Mini-Me: wearing my suit, with my shiny bald crown, putting my pinky finger up to your lips and staring at the camera in that just-so way.

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Now though, EVERYTHING has changed.

You cut off all your hair and are absolutely rocking the pixie cut look. You are searching for your own style in practically every shop that we pass. Little sayings and quirks are slipping in to the way you speak. The heels you’re wearing are making you taller than me; the dresses skimpier than I would ever dare.

But more than all of that combined, I suppose, is that in this past year you have found that elusive thing: Real Love. With a Real Boy. And he has guided you, hand in hand, towards the future – the one meant for you and only you.

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I am so proud of you. I am proud that I can call you my baby sister.

It’s strange watching you come into your own. There are twists to your character that I wasn’t expecting as we grew up together. And I love EVERY SINGLE surprise you present us all with, because every one of them is so utterly and singularly YOU.

I guess what I’m trying to say is never stop being you. You’re far too exceptional for the world to miss out on.

You’re not my Mini-Me any more, but that’s ok. Because as you shed my suit, grow some hair, and stop using your pinky finger in gestures, you become MORE every day.

You become YOU.

And the You you are today is one year older, one year wiser, one year more beautiful.

Happy 18th Birthday, little one.

From your Dr. Evil.

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