I can’t believe this baby girl turned 21 on Saturday. Lizzy and I are five years apart and although I don’t think I changed her diapers when she was born, I do remember playing peek-a-boo with her in her swing. I remember when she threw up all over my favorite pair of soccer shorts during a carride — which caused me not to sit next to her again until she was, ohhh about 8. Lizzy is the little sister I never had but always wanted. Marc and I used to torment her relentlessly because she was our tag-a-long, and we once even told her that she was born a boy but we wanted a girl and in came the hot dog vendor to cut off her boy-parts and the rest is history.
Twenty-one years old. Not the last of my cousins to become of age, but the last of the girls. And she couldn’t be more stunning.
I took over a thousand pictures guys, you’ll have to understand that editing them during this ridiculously hectic week is going to take a while. But at least she can go out to the bar (legally) while she waits for me to post them.
