She likes purses, particularly dainty, expensive, rarely-used-by-me clutches. When asked what her doll or stuffed animal is named she says, without fail, “She’s sassy.” People say, “Sassy? That’s her name?” and she grins, nods emphatically and says, “Yes, just Sassy.”

I’ve tried to understand what it is that has allowed her to slip under my skin so completely and all I come up with is that when she was inside of me she grabbed on, knowing the ride of being number 3 in a family of personalities. And so here she sits, firmly rooted, clutching a part of me that has only ever been hers.

My sweet Sassy.