12 Months

Today, baby girl, you are 12 months old. One year. 365 days. To see the changes this year has wrought, to know what we brought home after you were born, and to compare that baby to the girl we bring home today, is boggling.

You were so tiny. And helpless. And you flailed your little limbs around without any control. You couldn't lift your own head. Couldn't focus your eyes on anything far away. Couldn't really do anything but snuggle and sleep and nurse.

And now you are practicing how to feed yourself with a fork. You try to brush your own hair. You brush you own teeth every night before bed. You feed baby dolls tiny plastic bottles. You know how to have pretend tea parties, putting the cup to your mouth and then giving a satisfied, "Ahhh!" You understand jokes. When I put your shirt or shorts on top of my head while changing you, and look around and say, "Where did it go?" and you point to my head, and I look all around the room as if I can't tell where the clothes are, you crinkle your little nose in delighted amusement and laugh and point again and again and again. You dance to music. You communicate with us. You sign more, all done, eat, and please. You shake your head "no" when you don't want something. You point to what you do want. You say book and duck and kitty and baby and hi and when we ask you,  "What does a kitty say?" you say "eeaaahhhh," and when we ask you, "What does a snake say?" you say "sssssss." You pull up on anything stable and walk around holding onto things. You crawl around the house trying to find us. You laugh. You smile. You play the drums.

So much has changed in these last 12 months. But so much has stayed the same, too. You are a lap baby and love to be held, love to be read to. I nursed you on your birthday, just as I nursed you on the day you were born. You are still content. You are still happy. You are still easily entertained. You are still a fantastic sleeper. You are still the most amazing, beautiful creature we've ever seen.

So many times I hear mothers wonder, shaking their heads, "Where did time go?" I don't have to wonder. I know where the time went.

It went into naps where you slept in our arms, wrapped tightly in warm, snuggly blankets.

It went into evenings when you slept in your swing, the nighttime cricket noise chirping while your dad and I tiptoed around the house, eating dinner in the dark.

It went into nights when your dad would come and lay on the floor of the nursery to keep me company and give me support while I nursed you and worried you weren't getting enough.

It went into putting my hand on your tightly swaddled chest every night while you slept next to our bed, just to reassure myself that you were breathing.

It went into stripping you naked and running around the car with you in a deserted parking lot in the chilly October air trying to get you to wake up and nurse on our first road trip to Dallas.

It went into a Halloween costume fashion show.

It went into tummy time and cheering when you reached for a toy.

It went into being marveled at the sweet sounds that started coming out of your mouth, at the concentrated way you said "da-da" for the first time, at the way you used to chide us with the same sound.

It went into long walks around our neighborhood every afternoon, singing my own special alphabet song until you drifted off to sleep.

It went into dance parties in our office while we wore you in the Bjorn.

It went into meeting you at daycare every day on my lunch break to nurse you.

It went into getting up every night to pump one extra time while the rest of the family slept the night away.

It went into trips to the park to watch you thrill in the wind and become fascinated by leaves and grass and animals.

It went into your first taste of an apple, of avocado, of banana.

It went into motorboating and "bub-bub-bubbing" and clapping.

It went into you being able to sit up and play with toys on a blanket outside while your dad and I played Frisbee.

It went into the era of the army crawl.

It went into splash parks and neighborhood pool exploration and lake get-togethers, where we learned you love to jump and splash and swim.

It went into laughing as you became a real crawler, laughing at your sounds of exertion when you hit "top speed" and knowing we would never lose you because we could always hear where you were and where you were headed.

It went into games of peek-a-boo and "Where's Ali?"

It went into family reunions where you charmed one and all, where you first tasted bar-b-cue and Russian food and where you, ever the easy-going girl, slept while I wore you on the Dart train into the city.

It went into learning to use a sippy cup, learning to drink from a straw, learning that veggies are yummy but fruit is the best.

It went into directing your dad or me from picture to picture to picture around the house. 

It went into peeking around corners and chasing us and then turning to flee when we chased you.

It went into sweet, open-mouthed, wet kisses and "I love you" head bumps.

It went into laughing at you as you held your toy phone to your ear.

It went into gasping at your first steps.

It went into bathtime books and helping us put away your toys.

It went into singing along with your lullabye CD, into story time and snuggles before kissing you goodnight for the night.

It went into glorious mornings when your smile is the first thing to brighten my day, into days where you sit up to greet me, clapping sleepily or signing "more" or waving hi.

This year was filled with a thousand million moments that took my breath away, that made my heart burst, that stopped me in my tracks and put a smile on my face that I hadn't known before I knew you.

There are still days I'm overwhelmed. Still days I look into the future and wonder how I'm going to do it all, how I'm going to keep you healthy and thriving and learning and growing. But then I remind myself to stop looking to next month, or next year, or the next ten years. I remind myself to look only to today, to right now, when you cuddle me in my arms, when you hold your toy out to me to share, when you crinkle your little nose and grin your toothy grin at me. I don't know what I'll do with a two-year-old, or a four-year-old, or a ten-year-old, or a cheeky teen. But I do know what to do with you.

With you, I play. I snuggle. I laugh. I encourage and cheer. I love.

What a year it's been. You've come so far. You've learned so much. And I've traveled that same distance with you, learning and growing right alongside.

Thank you for the gift of this past year. For teaching me and for learning. For the laughter and the tears. For being my sweet bear, my munch, my heart and soul.

May all our years together be as sweet.

With love forever and ever and ever,
Mom