Dear Kate,

20 years ago today, I held your tiny little body in my arms.

Okay, that’s a blantant lie. I was at summer camp at Duke being smart and making out with a hot blonde nerd girl on the day you were born. But a week later, I did come home and poke at your fontanel to see if I could feel the ridges of your tiny postfetal headmeat.

I don’t think it had any permanaent effects. Do you?

Happy burpday, little one. I love you and miss you, and hope that Kansas is treating you well.

P.S. I know she acts all innocent and mature, but Mandy’s the one who told me about fontanels in the first place, and threatened to slit my throat in my sleep if I didn’t poke your soft spots repeatedly. So there.