This time last year, we met face-to-face for the first time. You, an impish, wrinkled and somewhat orangish baby, and me, a tired, bedraggled new mom hopped up on lidocaine. It was love at first sight. I remember seeing your face as your dad held you up to mine and I never imagined I could be so happy to see someone I never knew before. At that moment, I thought you were just perfect. I look at the pictures now and realize you were puffy and misshapen at the time, but love blinds us, c'est non?
As I looked in on you sleeping last night, I remembered our first night together in the hospital. I don't think I slept more than 15 minutes at a time because I kept wanting to make sure you were okay. That and I needed another hit of codeine to get me through the EXCRUTIATING PAIN of having my stomach sliced open. Sorry. I don't mean to scream, Jack. The memories of 34 hours in labour are long forgotten. Well, not really. That will come with many more nights of cabarnet sauvignon and electroshock therapy. But, as I watched you sleep that night I cried and cried because I felt so thankful to have you beside me. I cried because you reminded me of all that can be perfect in the world, and I cried because I knew how blessed your dad and I were to be able to bring your little life into the world. And really, I just cry a lot, too.
We didn't have the easiest start together. You weren't always content with life and were often unsatisfied with what we had to offer. I was overwhelmed and scared. I was convinced you were unhappy because I was doing something wrong. I was sure you were going to turn out to be an illiterate, angry, shoplifting head of an environmentally unresponsible company with questionable accounting practices. And it was going to be all my fault. But then two and half months passed and you calmed down a bit. And then six months passed and you were smiling to everyone and happily babbling to all who would listen. And then ten months came and you were crawling and playing contentedly on your own. And now you are one-year old and you are a different boy than you were those many months ago. You smile and talk and make faces at us just to make us laugh. I no longer feel uncertain or frightened of the next day. Instead, you've renewed my spirit, my life. I think we had to go through the dark parts together, Jack, just so we could appreciate the beauty and brightness of these times more fully.
In this last month you've, pardon the pun, taken great strides towards walking. You are becoming increasingly intent on making it happen. You've managed a few shaky steps each day and we're now just waiting for when we pull you out of your crib, set you down, and you walk right over to the dining room for breakfast like you've been doing it all along. You have also become our favorite party trick. Dad makes a face and you mimic it. We say a word and you try to repeat it. We ask "Where's Barney?" and you make a dash for your new favorite brown bear. Like I've said all along, it seems we would go weeks at a time where nothing new would happen and then, WHAMMO. You pull out the word "apple", start pointing at things, waving bye-bye to everyone, and the world changes daily. It's absolutely fascinating to watch, Jack. You are so smart and so perceptive. I knew my genes would come in handy for something. That and the ridiculously curly blond hair that is starting to tangle itself behind your head like the snakes of Medusa.
It's been one heck of a year, kiddo. I am honestly so excited about this next year and all the stuff we'll get to do together. You are my best excuse for going to the zoo, visiting water parks and talking maniacally about produce at the grocery store. You give me reason to make the decisions I do in my life and oddly enough, having you as a baby in our family this year has actually shown me a freedom I never thought I'd find in life. Happy Birthday, baby boy!
Love,
Your Momma
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