Contrary to what the title of this post suggests, I am actually so so so happy to have a one year old boy today (yesterday)! Although I love the baby stage, as I sit here and think about the little person you are now, it is impossible for me to wish for anything to be different.
You, my dear sir, are a hoot!
So much has happened this last year, your life changed my life more than I could have ever anticipated. As soon as I found out I was pregnant with you, I knew that this would be my last baby. Sure, if time and money were no object (and a gal could have unlimited abdominal surgeries without consequence) we might sign up for this again (and again), as having children has been the absolute joy of my life. But time and money are very much limited (scarce?) (and I am fairly certain a 4th C-section is not advisable) so I went into this fully embracing that you would be my last.
What an idiot I was. You are not my last. And before anyone gets the wrong idea, let me restate that, with a new/proper emphasis... you are not
my last Sure, I will not be having more babies, but never were you my anything. Since the moment I was pregnant with you, I have had to share you with the masses...
- with Cooper and Daphne's (and Steve's) desire to know whether they were having a brother or sister (son/daughter) outweighing my inclination to be surprised, and their reveal and pure joy in planning for a baby brother (son) echoing throughout the whole house
- with both kids practically climbing all over each other and me (or your father) to be closer to you
- with everyone stopping every time they enter a room you are in to give you a smile, kiss, hug, anything, because whatever mission they were on can wait while they tend to their baby
- with inside jokes between you and Coop or you and Daph, or made up games played with all three of you
- with mommy sometimes only getting a passing hello, as you crawl off to chase someone else down, as you defy all expectations for speed
- with (although I hate to admit it) Da-Da being your "first word"
You, my dear boy, are
everyone's.
And while there are times I want to take every single giggle, smile, sigh, hug, pat and snuggle for myself, I would not have it any other way.
You were sick recently (are still recovering, as a matter of fact), and any concerns I had that I would fade in your eyes, as you got to experience full time daddy over the summer (because, to be clear, daddy over the summer rocks), were dissipated, as I was in constant demand. Sure, this meant that I was also the person whose mouth you sneezed in to, and my shoulders are seizing from the constant strain of holding a strapping practically 1 year old, but oh, the gooey feeling I get each time you reach out to me - so worth it.
A part of me would have expected to be terrified finding out I was pregnant with you. Without even factoring in the miscarriage, we had kind of settled into life, and one year in to my job I thought knocking out some financial goals should be my focus and if we were going to have another baby, it wouldn't be until 2017-2018.
Then, Lord, factor in the miscarriage... well, after the miscarriage I wasn't sure I could do that again. All was great in our house, and while things were not exactly thrilling in my career, everything was "enough".
But from the moment I found out about you, you have brought me peace. And happiness. Actually, joy is an even better word. (Oh, and about 9 months of
severe nausea).
You gave me courage to ask for, to expect more, in my career. I didn't have the luxury of being discerning with the other kids - we were too far in debt, and I was too new in my career to pass up the job I had/offers I got. And while all were "good" jobs, there were times it literally hurt to leave for work in the morning. But once you came along, being that much older and further in my career, I was finally at a place to draw some lines in the sand, and actually walk away when I was asked to cross them, instead of erasing and re-drawing the lines each time my boundaries were compromised. It has just been a totally different experience with you.
According to the development charts you should have 1 word, in addition to "mama" and "dada", and while you can definitely say "mama" and "dada", nothing else that has come out of your mouth is remotely coherent (and, it should be noted, when you say "mama" or "dada", it is generally either totally indiscriminately or on command). Much like Cooper, I am confident that this is a byproduct of spoiling as opposed to some developmental delay, as you are quite bright and clearly communicative in other ways.
If I ask you where your bunny is, you will match my expression of concern/seeking as you look about, and then promptly crawl to it and clobber it with love. If I ask you to pat the bunny, you will do so with a seriousness and intensity that seems a bit excessive. If I ask you to get a ball, you will not only fetch it, but throw it - sometimes even propelling it forward and not just backward into your own face.
See? Clearly, you are quite gifted.
You are the only person I know who hears the final music for Jeopardy and thinks "Dance Party!" but boy do you have the moves - you sway, headbop and bounce like nobody's business.
People often ask me how the big kids have handled your arrival, and I can say now, after watching for a year, that their utter happiness at having you in their lives has not wavered in the slightest. Not once. The ferocity with which they love you is unmatched. I worried when I was pregnant sometimes that the sheer act of having you might put you guys on a path to rivalry, as the addition of one should, mathematically mean, a subtraction from others. Fortunately, this is only kind of right. I have less time, we have less disposable income (hello 5 more years of childcare!), but there is so much more (as cheesy as this sounds) LOVE and FUN and LAUGHTER and JOY.
And we had a lot of that to begin with.
You are our Mr. Chuckles, the leader of the Calvengers, and we are ALL wishing you the happiest of first birthdays.
So. Much. Love.
