ONE BIG YEAR OLD! ONE!
This is you at breakfast this morning. With yogurt on your face. And on your PJs. Which you have clearly grown out of.
A year ago when you arrived you were itty bitty. Big for a newborn, but itty bitty in our world.
I remember when they pulled you out. I couldn't feel or see what was going on, but as soon as your head peeked out, you wailed.
You. Had. Arrived. HELLO!
Immediately, four of the doctors and nurses exclaimed on your size and told me that I was very happy you hadn't come out of my vagina. Apparently you had a big head, even then.
This story will horrify you when you're older.
They pulled you out, and your dad got all choked up, and he leaned down with huge tears in his big brown eyes and whispered, "He's perfect."
And you were. And you are.
Now! One whole entire year later! Now you sleep through the night and take two naps a day. But when you are awake, you are AWAKE, boy howdy!
You are in constant motion. You have to explore everything.
And when you're sitting, you're bang blam blam blamming things on the floor.
Some people might think a truck is a toy to be pushed. See the wheels? See how it goes? Forward and back? Oooh, the wheels!
You, on the other hand, think a truck is to be picked up, examined, and then BANG BLAMMED down on the floor. Repeatedly.
You have a very sweet disposition, but you've also been teething, and that makes you really crabby. You now have six teeth, although mostly you just show the two bottom ones. You bite when provoked.
And by provoked I mean when anything is in or too near your mouth. Or when anything looks particularly intriguing. Like my toes.
You say "Mama" regularly, and I'm pretty sure Mama means me. But it also means, "I want," and "I'm not very happy with this situation." There's a lot of "Mamamamamamamama!" going on.
You say "Dada" and I think that just means Dad. There's no extra messages there.
A couple days ago you started saying "Hi!" and last night when I got home and said, "Hi!" you said, "Hi!" right back. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a fluke.
You adore garlic. You like eggs cooked with garlic, pasta with garlic, avocados mashed with garlic. Sometimes when I'm patting you to go to sleep the garlic wafts up at me.
Truly, I hope that you're not "the boy who smells like garlic" once you're at school. I was the girl with the orange mustache, and it wasn't easy. I guess we've got time.
You've got an extremely strong personality, and when you're mad about something - like being picked up for dinner when you want to keep playing - you are furious. You bang on the tray, you throw the spoon on the floor, you glare.
The thing you don't know is that you've met your match, little friend. I love you, but let me just tell you now: in these situations, Mama is going to win.
I know you're frustrated because you're on the verge of walking and talking and there are so many things you want to say! and do! And you can't quite say! and do! them yet! But you will, sweetheart, you will.
The past month has been huge for you: You took a big car trip for your great-grandfather's 95th birthday. You threw up on me. You sat on the beach and you hated it, although you still ate some sand. You've tried all kinds of new foods. You've met lots of new people. You're more mobile and more talkative than ever.
I'm so excited to hear what you have to say. You're so chit-chatty and when those turn into real words, oh, we're going to have fun.
We love you more than sunshine, and we feel so lucky to have you in our lives.