I remember when you were born. I was about to turn eight and I was so excited for another baby sister. I was hoping you would look like me—so that I could have a twin, too—and you did. (Except now, you're much more adorable than I am, and you're on your way to being taller.) I remember I listened to the White Album over and over again in my bedroom so that I could sing "Julia" to you as a lullaby without having to read the lyrics.
Happy birthday, Julia Jo. You're my favorite thirteen-year-old in the world.