>And Now You are One

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When they first handed your ten-pound self to me one year ago today, I looked past your blotchy purple and white skin and your scrapes and bruises and I thought you were the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. I wanted to share you with the world, and we did, giving you your television debut when you were only a day old. You were my one and only son and I thought you were absolutely perfect.

The first few weeks of your life, you ate… a lot. Cried… a lot (I later found out it was because you had reflux). Slept… a little. So little that I thought I’d lose my mind from sleep deprivation. Your homecoming marked the beginning of a long sleepless odyssey that continues to this day, when you wake before dawn raring to go, no matter how late we put you to bed. Despite all of that, I loved you so much, it hurt.

The only person who might have loved you as much as your father and me in those days? Punky. Far from jealous, the girl couldn’t get enough of you. Still can’t. She truly believes you were born just for her.

I slogged through those early days with you, often wondering how I was going to make it through the next hour, the next minute. The next second. And then you learned to smile. And you never stopped smiling. And suddenly, it didn’t matter how long you had yelled or how much you had pooped or how little you had slept. One smile from you and our hearts all melted.

Suddenly, I didn’t care whether or not you ended up being gay. I didn’t care what the experts had to say about how I should raise you. I didn’t care that your nursing preference made me look like a sideshow attraction. I didn’t even care that everyone said you looked just like your dad and nothing like me, although I have to disagree with them.

When you smiled, I didn’t care that you cut several teeth within a couple of weeks and howled throughout that “precious” time like it was Armageddon, or that you woke up three times a night until you were eight months old. You were my last baby, and even in my weakest moments, I never forgot that I wouldn’t experience any of these milestones again. Well, I almost never forgot.

The truth, sweet Bruiser, is that I love everything about you. Everything, right down to the way you sound your own personal alarm without fail at six every morning. I love the way you follow your sister everywhere, cackling loudly at everything she says and does. I didn’t know it at the time, but I even love that you weaned yourself at nine months. You got the rest of your teeth in a week or two later and I could see that you had spared me a lot of pain.

Today, you are all boy, chewing on everything, reaching for everything that’s put out of your way, putting every bit of dirt, fluff, or food (or um, poo)into your mouth, forcing me to save you from certain disaster on a regular basis.

And this is the image of you I hold in my mind’s eye- smiling, laughing, racing toward me on your hands and knees (you crawl faster than any of us can walk), making happy gurgling sounds all the way. You throw yourself face first into my lap, pausing for a few seconds in your version of a hug, and then proceed to squirm and wiggle and grab for everything in your reach, your insatiable curiosity taking hold.

It’s been a hell of a year, but we got through it, didn’t we? You alone have made me feel like I’ve earned my mothering badge of honor. I love your crawling, cruising, bouncing, squawling, clapping, laughing, waving, dancing, three-word-speaking (“mama”, “dada”, and “hey,” for the record) one-year-old self like I’ve never loved anyone before. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy. You are my everything.