Three years old and ready to rule the world!

Punk is three today.
It's hard to believe it.
It's hard to believe its been three years since I first held her in my arms.
Now she is as familiar to me as my own skin, as essential to me as breathing.
It astounds me that the child I hadn't wanted right at that moment (I wanted her, but just on my schedule--not hers. I should have known better) is the child who completes our family and my soul so thoroughly.
She is a mini me in almost every way. It seems as though she sprung from my body ready to take over the world and determined to hold me hostage.
Punk has my temper, only worse. She has my stubborness, only worse.
And she has her father's need for affection and touch, only better.
She curls up so sweetly against me to go to sleep, throwing one arm around my neck, pressing kisses to my face, running chubby fingers through my hair until she falls asleep, baby breath blowing softly in my face.
She follows me from room to room, screaming out her rage unitl presented a choice and she decides is in her best interest to stop.
She stands a closed door and yells "I need you, Mommy!" Even when we both know she doesn't.
She is both a gentle wind and raging hurricane in our house.
She is a love song in The Man's heart.
She is the completion of mine.
And I wonder how we ever lived without our little Punkin.