When you were born, six-year-old me was pretty disappointed. Not because you were an ugly baby, or anything like that (actually, you were almost as cute as me), but because in my little girl mind, I thought that when the baby was born, she was going to be the same age as me and be able to play house. I was very confused when you came out looking all shriveled and covered in your own drool and poop -- not the most appealing person to play dolls with. Later on, I came to accept that instead of being able to play dolls with me, you were like my own personal baby doll that I could watch over.

Well, kind of. I’m really sorry for that time I sat in your baby rocker because I thought my butt would fit in it (even though Dad told me not to), and then I broke it. I’m also sorry for that time you were on the couch and Mom told me to watch you, and I got distracted and let you roll off the seat and onto the carpet. And I’m also sorry for that time when you were a toddler that I carried you around the house, ran away from our nanny, and then accidentally dropped you and you got a busted lip. To this day, I still cry when I think about the blood coming from your mouth. Man, I really am sorry. I suck, sometimes.

Even though I’m a crappy big sister from time to time, and even though you’re in middle school and kind of annoying, I still want to wear matching outfits like we did when we were little. And go get our nails done. And go to the movies together. And listen to who you have a crush on and stalk them on Instagram. And I’ll still threaten to kick the ass of anyone -- guy, girl, friend, foe -- who screws with you. I’m the size of a middle schooler, no one will ever notice it’s me. I’m the only person that’s allowed to mess with you. Even then, I always say I’m sorry. I’ll always say I’m sorry.

Today is a Friday and you’re going to your first school dance. I wish I was home to see you in your dress and take pictures of you and your friends. Mom texted me a couple photos, but I’m sure they don’t do your beauty justice. I hope you have a great time, and I hope you call me up to tell me all about it. This is weird because I still have pictures sitting on my dresser of me at the eighth-grade dance. You’ve grown up to be such a good kid, and I’m sorry if I don’t say it enough. You are such an amazing, talented girl. Time is moving way too fast. How did you even get taller than me? How are you graduating middle school this year? I would give anything to carry you around like a baby again. I still try to, but now your feet drag on the ground and I'm almost on the ground, too.

I hope that as you continue growing up, you know that I am always here for you. Even when I’m not home. Even when we’re busy. Even if you’ve made a mistake, even if I’m mad, even if you know you’ll get in trouble. When things are good, or bad, or you don’t even know what they are, I’ll be there. We can always figure it out. We can always celebrate. That’s what best friends are for.

Thanks for being the best little sis on earth. I love you.