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My daughters.

Allison, my oldest at four, is the most pure combination of myself and her mother. She has my height, my natural, unconscious, and undeveloped athleticism. She has her mother's beauty, her femininity, and mind. She has my ADHD and her mother's mood swings. Like her mother she burns so brightly that I live in constant fear that she will burn herself out. If anyone can ever hang on to her he will be as lucky and tortured as I was to have her mother.

Audrey, the poor, lost, middle child at not quite three could be her mother's twin at the same age. She is exotic and beautiful. She has her mother's amazingly expressive face. She makes me sad because she is smart and funny and loving and wonderful, but like me happiest alone. She didn't have to be. But she has always been washed out by the gamma ray burst that is Allison and she is not willing to fight for attention.

Abigail, the baby at 15 months, has fiery red hair and a temper to match. She makes the strangest faces, has the most unusual smile that still somehow brightens a room. When she has not seen me, even for a few hours, she always runs to me when I come into the room. She has my hazel eyes, but in blue instead of green. She always holds her own and isn't afraid to pull hair or whack someone twice her size to do it.

These girls are the greatest gift anyone could ever give. Nothing I could ever do would thank their mother enough for giving these girls to me.

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