An open letter to my daughter

You are crazy.  Not a little nuts.  Full blown, time to lock your crazy ass up, crazy.  I would start to worry, but looking back through your family tree I find a long list of mentally unstable individuals.  Like a small gang of nuts.
Your level of insanity... it's sporadic but consistent.  It begins in the mornings (sometimes the sun isn't even out) where you lay in bed and desperately cry for a sippy cup full of milk like an starving African baby.  Sometimes I have to remind you "it's 3 am Casey, go back to sleep"... other times I'm woken out of bed (the bed you walked over to like a Walking Dead zombie), You kick my back to get me to rise and go downstairs to the kitchen for said cup of chocolate goodness.
Then the tour of crazy takes us to breakfast, where you order things from your brothers like you're at a Cuban cafeteria "bagel please" "can I have cocoa puffs" "can I have chicken" (not a breakfast food by the way)... and you eat none of it, not a morsel.  Instead you carry it around for hours till it either desintegrates or gets plucked out of your hand by an angry mom.
The car rides seem eternal.  You converse non stop... about the most random things.  Requests for plane rides, trips to Rapunzel's tower, why all bugs should die, who is Michael Jackson, who's coming to pick you up from school (still me, like every day for the last 2 years) and who you should marry so you can kiss them on the lips.  You know every lyric to every song on the radio... my favorites:

"don't you worry, don't you worry chiiiilllld... see heaven has a PET for yooouuu!"
and
"you're giving SEEEXY nothing"

You obsess if your socks aren't high enough, if your jacket isn't zipped, if your DS isn't charged, you want to call your Mina every second of every day (your most ardent obsession) "is she doing exercise?"... and you have no concept of the fact that I can't turn around to pick up something from the floor because I'm driving and don't want to crash.  How dare I?!?
Then, there's the faces... the silly faces you make every time I try to snap a picture.  Hundreds, if not a thousand shots of you looking like a hot crazy mess.  Personality is not lacking on you my child.
You burp and fart and walk around with no shirt on... because according to everyone, that's what a girl with 2 big brothers does.  You yell your lungs out at your brother's baseball games.  You swear you're a princess and will gouge out anyone's eyes who tells you otherwise.  You think your bathtub is an ocean and are pretty sure you're a great swimmer.  You love to eat the grain your daddy uses to make his beer and you're pretty quick to tell him you want flowers, chocolates and diamonds (we're Hernandezes, not Kardashians).  The truth is... I love you for that.  There is not one day that goes by where you don't make me laugh... out loud, uncontrollably.  Maybe it's because I'm so madly in love with the spectacular girl you are (I may be biased).  You're endlessly smart, ridiculously funny and can have anyone you meet do anything you want.  That's not a bad thing now is it?
Keep being you... unique, playful, imaginative and absolutely beautiful.  I'll be the gatekeeper of your crazyness and the minder of the asylum, because you're wonderful... crazy wonderful.