The countdown to four feels like both a heartbeat and a lifetime. Four years of sticky fingers and bedtime stories, of tantrums that melt into giggles, of watching Lily’s sass and sparkle take root. This birthday carries a weight beyond balloons and cake—it arrives in the middle of waiting, with my test results hanging in the air like ashes. And yet, here she is: my wildflower in a glittering tiara, reminding me that joy insists on blooming even in the shadow of fear.

This year, the party is at home. For the first time in years, I’m not handing the chaos to the grandparents—I’m reclaiming our space, filling it with SuperKitties foil balloons and colorful streamers. Lily’s eyes will light up at her two‑tier cake, her brothers will wear frosting on their noses like badges of mischief, and cousins will tumble through the living room in a blur of laughter.

Because birthdays are wildflowers. They bloom regardless of the ashes. They remind us that life doesn’t pause for fear—it keeps moving, keeps laughing, keeps demanding that we show up for the moments that matter.