My Other Baby

There's this little girl who always makes me laugh: my niece Samantha. My other baby, I call her, and she is one spunky, highly opinionated kid who has mastered the fine art of wheedling. She insists she loves everybody in the universe except for one: me. But when I make a show of reaching for that bag of forbidden chocolates, she turns on the charm and swears she super loves me.



If there is such a thing as a pop baby, Sam is probably it. She knows all the songs in the HSM and Hairspray soundtracks. She thinks Chad--the guy with the curly hair--is the coolest person ever. She can sit in front of the TV for hours and can easily pick up dance steps, lyrics and tunes. And in her squeaky, elfish voice, she sings "suicidal, suicidal" and "Fabulous" over and over and over again.

Because they are so so different, Sam and Gianna are best friends slash worst enemies. You can never really tell with them. One moment they are all sweetness and light: as in sticky-glue sweet. Minutes later, they are at each others' throats, glued to each other Sumo-style.

Sam is three years old today. She is all red after yet another shouting bout with Ate Gianna. She just had a High School Musical theme party and is all wound up. No, she did not wear a skirt like her girly-girl cousin. Instead, she strutted around in skinny jeans and sporty tees. And when someone sang "Happy Birthday, Sam," she blurted: "I am not Sammy. I am Chad."



Happy Birthday, funny little girl! May you always find wonder in every thing!