Why is a 3 year old calling me Mom?

Oh, that's right, I have a three year old.
It seems like yesterday but three years ago today we
were in the hospital watching an all day marathon of The Hills.

I was starving (they refused to feed me. For 12 hours I might add),

 drugged up and paralyzed from the waist down. 

Meanwhile, Devon was sleeping, eating and entertaining everyone coming in and out.

He had it so easy.

I remember singing TLC to numb the pain, hitting on the nurse and quoting Step Brothers...

only to be scoffed by the doc to focus and push.

I pushed for ten minutes and there she was.

She came out barely crying.

FACT: Devon and I cried more than she did.

She was so chill. She just stared at everyone.

She was the smallest baby I've ever seen.

Five pounds. Twelve ounces. Seventeen inches long.

She had dark, straight hair, very fair skin with the chubbiest cheeks.

I honestly can't fathom that it's been three years since holding my Bella for the first time.

Now, she's running around demanding shit like she's the boss (she kind of is),
making friends every time we go to the store,
and trying to ride bikes. (Notice I said trying.)

She's literally the dopest person I've ever known and she's my very best friend.

She makes me laugh pretty much every time she opens her mouth
but especially when she sings J. COLE.

These past three years have been the most fun, crazy,
and life teaching I've ever experienced
 and I wouldn't change anything.

Except for maybe time.
Because next thing I know she'll graduate,
I'll hit Asian menopause and then die.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ISABELLA MARLEE
#youdashit