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My sweet little man,

Today, you are one year old.

A year. 365 days. Since we first met you. Since I first held you. Since I first stroked your hair and told you what a good, brave boy you'd been (I still remember your birth like it was yesterday). A whole year.

I don't know that there's anything so amazing as the first year of a child's life. You start the year tiny and helpless, unable to control your own body, unable to lift your head, focus your eyes, do anything, really, other than recognize your own hunger pangs or your need for security and closeness. And at the end? You laugh at jokes. You make funny faces in order to make others laugh. You take steps. You throw balls and catch them. You say dog and woof and meow and hi and hello and bye-bye and agua and all done and ball and apple and balloon and book. You give kisses. You feed yourself. You put yourself to sleep without so much as a whimper and actually sleep well. You have a lovey, a stuffed elephant that you hug to the side of your head and say "awww." You love being rough and tumble and like nothing more than to go down the biggest slides at the playground (again and again and again).

How is that possible? To go from where you started on your birth day to where you are today, your birthday? What an amazing thing it is, and how lucky am I to have gotten to witness every single day of it? The luckiest.

To be honest, this is one of those years where I wonder, "where did the time go?" I felt it, as the days passed, that so much of our first year together would be lost to the mute fog of forgetfulness. I knew I would forget so much of our time together that I made a point to be wholly IN as many moments with you as possible. I know, in those early days, how I sat and breathed you in as you slept on my shoulder, your warm breath on my neck. I know I reveled in the feel of your body in my arms. I know I drank up the site of your face, your smile, the brightness in your eyes. As easy as it was this year to be distracted, to be tired, I tried every day to give you 100% of my attention while I could, to watch you learn about the world, to see your firsts, to celebrate you and love you.

And even now, even with your first year so close to me, I know I've forgotten moments. Already. Forgotten them to the dimness of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. How paradoxical that we don't remember more of your first year--we were, after all, awake for most of it. Already, despite my determination to imprint each moment permanently onto my mind, my heart, already I look back and see only big pictures, the details blinking out one by tiny one.

What do I see, when I look back on your first year, then? There is, of course, the potential to only remember the challenges. Your last five months have been challenging, to be sure. There is the potential to remember only the illnesses, only the sleepless nights, only the tears and the frustration and the worry over your weight and your health. It would be so, so easy to have that be the overarching tone of our memories. But that's not it. Not for me.

I remember your smile. Your never-ending, ever-ready smile. Have I already told you that you were (are) the happiest baby I've ever known? You started smiling back at us at just two weeks old and haven't stopped since. No matter what day it was, no matter how bad you felt, how sick you were, how tired, you were always, always smiling. Even at the hospital, struggling to breath, you were smiling and trying to flirt with the nurses. The ER doctor called you a "happy wheezer." Through all the tests, the blood draws, the x-rays, the doctor visits, all of it . . . you smiled.

And your laugh? Oh, silly boy, your laugh is as easy and infectious as your smile. Your favorite thing to laugh at is still your sister, though I'm getting pretty good with your tickle rib and my funny faces and fake-out belly raspberries, and you and your dad like to make funny noises faces and laugh riotously at each other. You look for the delight in the world, and you always have. I don't even have to hope that you never lose that because it's just in you. You could no sooner lose the sparkle in your eyes or your funny big toe as you could your sense of humor.

You are my sweet, sweet, happy boy. Your sister can do no wrong in your eyes. Your daddy is your favorite play mate. And me? Oh, my boy, how you love on me. I am the one you seek for the hugs, the snuggles, the security of being held and loved and safe.

Today you are one and no longer a baby. With the steps you are taking now (up to four in a row!), I can no longer deny the "toddler" label. You play and you eat real food and you talk to us and tell us what you want. And you smile. And laugh. And bring us more joy than we've ever known. And this first year? With all its challenges and scares and long nights . . . it was full of so much delight. So many happy moments for me. So many times I froze time and shut the world out and existed with just you, just the two of us.

I know the second year is amazing. I know how much fun it is, and with a boy like you, a boy who finds the humor and delight in everything around him, I know that we have so much to look forward to together. I look forward from today and smile and know that we have something wonderful in store for us. And I know that our first year, though it's over and done, was the most wonderful first year we could have asked for.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me the chance of a lifetime, to be your mommy, to experience your first year with you, to witness the wonder of you becoming you.

I am so, so proud of you. And oh, my sweet boy, how I love you.

Happy, happy, happy birthday.

Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom