On the eve of my daughter's fourth birthday

Sofia's pre-birthday birthday cake, originally uploaded by Racmol.

Dear Sofia,

You are everything I ever wanted in a daughter and more besides. Your beauty and your imagination astound me every day and I feel very fortunate to have you in my life.

I also often feel at a loss as to how to deal with the latest performance over the unavailability of the pink baking skirt, and the refusal to wear anything else.

I have to say, I didn't expect quite such a PINK daughter. I remember shopping for baby clothes with your Auntie Sara. I chose a very cute stripey brown and orange velour suit with a giraffe on the front and Auntie Sara had her doubts as to whether that would really be suitable if you turned out to be a girl.

And then when you were a baby, I discovered Polarn o Pyret, and you spent your babyhood dressed in red and purple with denim dungarees.

Now you're turning four and everything must be pink. I am constructing a pink princess castle cake for the party and I have finally, after weeks of whining about cold legs on the way to nursery, persuaded you into some pink jeans. (They are size 5 slimfit and the legs are not too long - where did that come from?)

People often comment that you are a happy child and I have to agree - you generally have a very sunny outlook on life, which brightens my day every day.

On that topic, not every day has been bright over the last four years. I have suffered postnatal depression twice (once after each child, the second time much worse than the first) and relied heavily on support from family and friends. And even when I was almost completely silent, you still appreciated me jamming blocks together for you wordlessly and heavily editing your bedtime stories.

You won't eat scrambled eggs or baked beans, though, which may well be a consequence of all those days I couldn't summon the energy to cook anything or find the concentration to decide what we needed and shop for it.

You went through a worrying phase of sitting on or biting your little brother, but now you actively look after him and come to his aid if it looks like anyone is being mean to him at nursery.

Every night, Willy says 'I want Fia's bed' and gets in with you. There isn't really room for two toddlers in a toddler bed, so I have to transfer him into his own bed to howls of protest. It's nice that you have that bond, I think.

Tomorrow is your actual birthday, and we hope it is everything you're wishing for. We will take you to see your second actual castle (Windsor) and your Dad, by the sound of his recent phonecall on his way home from work, has over-ordered hugely on breakfast patisseries and other tasty morsels.

Happy birthday sweet pea. Have a lovely sleep.
Love, Mum.

PS The idea for this post comes from dooce.com, who blogged a letter to her daughter every month for the first few years of her life. And the picture opposite is the obligatory pre-birthday birthday cake at nursery this afternoon.