Today you turned one. You are a year. When people ask me how old you are, I don’t have to count months anymore and feel flustered because I don’t automatically know. I can remember one.
This morning, your dad and I threw you a ridiculous party. We filled the house with balloons and had seven different kind of desserts and cut little stars out of honeydew so your fruit would be festive. A lot of your peoples came bearing gifts and they watched you eat cake and float around in your firefly costume and they thought everything you did was awesome. But you know what? My absolute favorite part of the day was the part where I opened the door this morning and you were peeking at me through the bars of your crib and you broke into a huge smile when you saw me. It’s the favorite part of all my days.
I love you lots, babe.
I don’t know when you’ll read this (if ever) and if you aren’t a mom when you read this, you might not be able to really get how amazing this year has been. It’s been a fast twelve months, but at the same time I feel like you’ve always been here and we’ve always been three. We’re so grateful that you’re healthy and that you have so many other people who love you and are there to help you out.
I like that you do that thing where you scrunch up your nose and snort. Your dad does that, too.
Your first year was pretty overwhelming and I didn’t care much for the part where you were just a squishy lizard who pooped ten times a day, so I’m really looking forward to your second year. Your second year is going to be all games and new words and learning to use a spoon so you don’t screech at me with your mouth open like an angry baby bird. And then your third year? Forget about it. We’re taking you to ballet and buying you a swing set and a puppy and a vintage She-Ra castle for all your vintage She-Ras…
Your childhood is going to be epic. I love that we’re here for it.
I’m tired, but I wish the sun was coming up right now because then I’d be closer to opening your door and seeing your cute face.