Egads – we’re in month 11. Although why do I countdown to your first birthday? Are you miraculously going to become some independent person on this day? Is your first birthday the true indicator that I passed the test of motherhood? Does the fact that you survived a full year mean that no other heartaches or sleepless nights are in my future? Although your first birthday is a countdown to when I’m done breastfeeding and that means guiltless drinking. No doubt I have my occasional adult beverage now and then but I’m ready to lay it on thick! This doesn’t mean I’m going to get so trashed that I’m going to embaress you in public. No doubt I will do this anyway but alcohol may or may not be a contributing factor in this. But, I digress – you’re first birthday is fastly approaching and for some unknown reason, I am stressing out trying to plan this event. I have no clue why I’m making this a bigger deal than it probably is but I am seriously having difficulty planning this. Will you really judge me 20 years from now if I didn’t pick the right tablecloth? One thing is for sure, I need to plan this puppy now or nobody will be here.
My friend Shawn summed up who you are this moment. He said you look exactly like your father but your personality is all me. He recommended I get a job to limit my exposure to you. Little does he know that you’re picking up all your little quirks all on your own. I certainly don’t know where you picked up your courtesy smile or your hard mugging look. Unless I do both of these things without even being aware of it. You are an amazingly happy baby – you smile and wave to every human and furry being that passes within a 1 mile radius of your stroller. I find this very sweet on the days I don’t mind holding small talk with people. On the not-so-wonderful days, I just want to put a paperbag over your head so you don’t draw people over. Fewer people are calling you a boy but the ones that do make me want to punch them in their teeth. Honestly, who would dress their baby boy in shoes with a boy and a feminine floral onesie with your bright pink fairy doll sitting in your lap? Just because you are follically challenged does not give people the right to automatically assume you are male. Sorry, I rant – maternal instinct taking over.
I think I can speak on behalf of everyone that we are finally starting to settle into our new home. It’s nice to step outside on any given night and see the kids playing in the court. Many of them are within a few years of you and they all seem to absolutely adore you. It’s a good feeling to know you’ll grow up in a neighborhood with other children your age. Potential friends or enemies – who knows?
I feel this bond growing between us and it’s a wonderful feeling. I smile to myself when I get up from the table and leave you with Dad and I hear you begin to cry. Not that I like to hear you suffering but it’s a lovely feeling to know that you’re truly wanted. I know one day it will be a completely different story so I will soak it up for what it’s worth now. I’m excited that you are engaging more in your surroundings because that means I can start taking you to places that I actually want to go to. Your father and I have created a to-do list for days we decide to play hooky. The nice thing is we take you to these places now but you won’t remember so we’ll have to take you again later – LOVE IT!
Ok, well, this is the last post before the big numero uno. I can’t believe it but it’s true. I really can’t say it enough but you are truly becoming a wonderful little person and I take full credit! HAHA – no, I guess I can’t take complete credit but I get the majority. You really are developing quite the personality and I love that you even make your uncle Tim smile. My only wish is you continue to be a happy child. You’ll have plenty of time later in life to venture over to the dark side. Dark is good on occasion but live up the happiness now. Continue to smile for no particular reason. Continue to laugh at my Sharon Osborne impression. Take the time to thoroughly examine each and every blade of grass. Alright, that’s my momism for the time being.
Love,
Momma