You may just be a day old, but someone's already blogging about you! How exciting is that? Who knows, by the time you're old enough to know what a blog is, we might all be doing it merely by thinking of posting — at least once the brain chips settle in.
I was in New York when you came into the world, so I've only heard things secondhand about you. I know you showed up with a full head of hair (much like your big sis over there on the left) and came out as a Caesarian (remind me to tell you the Stephen Wright joke about how he was born Caesarian and now always has to leave a house by the window). How because of your other-exit entry into the world you're looking amazingly well and not all pinched up, and how you've already stuck out your tongue at grandma.
In New York it was very, very cold when you were born, and it snowed that same night. I walked outside with my dog for her business and just exclaimed, "Snow!" because it was our first real fall of the year. I hope every day holds something that unique for you, where you just burst out with the obvious because it's such a delight. For a long time, I think it will.
There were a lot of other wonderful, and some not-so-wonderful things that happened on your birthday. A man named "Scooter" was on trial and was being called a fall guy; our country considered further funding a war in Iraq that many consider ill-conceived. There was a Republican in the White House, but there was a woman leading up the House of Representatives, and only one of them has been in Iraq so far this year. I hope by the time you're big enough the idea of a woman running either house is so commonplace that what I've just said seems boring.
But some really nice things also happened and continue to happen: People are making beautiful music and putting it up for free on the Internet (which will also be part of that brain chip we'll probably already have when you're grown), I'm throwing an Oscar party at the end of next month where we'll all watch a classy lady win for playing a Queen, and the Fug Girls said your namesake (well, middle-name namesake) is the kind of woman we should all aspire to look like, minus so much chin. And I think they've found the cure for cancer. In a generic drug. There is love and life and snow for everyone.
I'm glad you're here, and I'm not-so-secretly glad you're a girl. Girls are more interesting, I think. But you do have some big shoes to fill, because Sydney your sister has been delighting and amusing and weirding us all out for three years, and you're going to be playing catch up the rest of your life. But the good news is, you always get to be the youngest. You're the last of your line. I've only ever been the big sister, so you'll have to look to your dad for the younger sibling take on things, but if I can offer advice, I'd say: Don't bug her when she tells you to buzz off. And take her seriously, or she'll clomp you in the head, and get in trouble later for it, and that's not a spiral you want to get into.
But that's not the only reason: You need to learn to be yourself. Don't rely on others to entertain or validate you. You've got a little under 18 years to figure out who you are and what you want to do, and you'll make mistakes and piss some people off and most certainly find ways to make them fall in love with you. You'll fall in love too, and have heartbreak and euphoria and be startled and scared and delirious and sad and you'll find that one song you can listen to over and over until your parents yell at you to shut it off. (Unless it's on the brain chip and they can't hear it.) You'll be called all sorts of names, some good and some bad, so only listen to the ones that feel right to you. Most importantly only listen to the ones that echo what you're already feeling deep down inside. Underneath it you'll still be my niece, Natalie Reese, and you will always remind me of peanut butter cups and adorable Southern actresses.
So that's a good thing. You're a good thing. And I can't wait to meet you in March.
Yer Wacky Auntie