You are one year old. You'll never remember it, but this is a very important birthday. You're a little boy now and not a baby anymore. 99% of me is thrilled about that.
You are so tall now that the refrigerator door clonks you in the head as it opens or closes, so I do a lot of moving you around when we're in the kitchen. You are getting picky about what you eat - you want the fruit, and you want it now. Those eggs can go suck, well, eggs. Daddy and I actually have to ration the fruit we put on your tray otherwise you'll eat nothing else.
You are in desperate need of a haircut. I may or may not get to it before your birthday party tonight; I can't imagine how you'll let me do it without whipping around to look at or grab the scissors the whole time. I doubt that even TV and snacks will be enough of a drug to keep you from being all up in the haircutting business. Grandma says you're "curious and inquisitive"; I say you're downright nosey. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I guess.
As usual, you have perverted the laws of parenting. Which parent sings to you? Mama. Which parent does 80% of deadly diaper changes? Mama. Which parent entertains you with funny skits while she changes said diapers? Mama. Who do you prefer these days? Daddy. When he hands you off to me before he leaves for work, you sometimes start crying. All it does is makes me smile that you and your Daddy love each other so much. My heart's tougher than I thought it was (though let's see how it recovers when you tell me that you're quitting school to go raise goats on a mountain in Jamaica and why don't I get it).
You are still walking everywhere, and getting into everything. You rarely stop moving, although you're not frantic about it. You LOVE music - anytime it comes on, you get a huge grin and start bending your knees in an adorably spastic, random way. It's dancing, though I fear for your future as a lady's man (maybe Daddy can help you with this. He is a dreadful dancer, though I hear rumors that he wasn't too shabby with the ladies.)
You love playing with toys that aren't toys. Your favorites are baby Tylenol bottles, drapery cords (go ahead and call DCF!), rulers, plastic drinking cups, rolls of wrapping paper, power cords & cables, and especially brooms.
In the last month, you have gotten a little affectionate. Sometimes you'll walk across the room into my arms, lay your head on my shoulder, and sling your left arm around my neck. Very sweet. And in this sweet way, you also shared your most recent rotavirus with me: we both had a nice day of puking followed by much pooing. Your poo liked to announce itself most while on a very expensive rug at your Peepa's house. Daddy and I had some quality time with the Windex bottle and a roll of paper towels. You were blissfully unaware.
You are very chatty these days. You have given up Mama for Vaaaaaa, and Nang. You still enjoy the occasional Daaaaa and Ava-va-va. The raspberry is still in favor and you do it with relish. You have learned to yell for attention - when you're in your rear-facing carseat, you'll make a loud deliberate "ah!" and when I look in the mirrors you're grinning at me.
The big party is planned for the evening of your birthday. Peepa, Grandma, Grandpa, Nannie, and Aunt Deborah are coming, along with a few neighbors. All of your other Aunts and Uncles have sent cards or e-mails to say "Happy Birthday, Nate!" No one can believe that you're already one, though I can. It's been the best year of my life, but it has been a long one. I'm not sure why, since I've enjoyed every second. Truly.
Thank you for you. We are so glad that you were born.
Love,
Mama
No comments:
Post a Comment