Dear Bubby Bubberoo,
(your pictures in today's post [with one obvious exception] are by Kim P of Mimsydotes. Seriously-- could she be any more awesome?)
Before I get started on your first birthday post, I feel like I should say something about the nicknames. You might have noticed that each month I've called you something different, from AB to Pookers to Chunkerson. You are probably asking, 'You didn't really call me those things, did you Mom?' Sorry, Bub, but the answer is yes. You are a baby of many nicknames. At least it's better than Chewbecca, right? Right?
Regardless, here we are, at your first birthday. I say 'we' because I'd never thought of birthdays as a family affair until having a baby of my own. Sure, it's awesome that you are one year old, but I never fully considered what that meant. You are one, which means I-- a silly, oftentimes lazy, somewhat insensitive, but well-meaning woman in her thirties-- have kept you alive for an entire year. If that is not a miracle in and of itself, I don't know what is.
This month with you has been all about talking. Whatever skills you lack in the walking department (P.S., really need you to get on that...), you more than make up for with all you can say. Your first word besides Da-Dee and Mo-Mee, the one that will go in the baby book, was 'Baby', and I think it gave you such delight that you've spent every moment since adding to your repertoire. 'Duck' (Cuck), 'Circle' (Cucole), 'Daniel' (Da!), 'Bubble' (Bub-BLE), and 'Lamb' (Nam) were close behind. Now if only you could describe which sippy cup you will use, so I can stop buying every single kind at Target in hopes you'll actually drink from it.
If there is one thing a Momma in her thirties says, it's that the time goes by fast. Anna (see? I call you that sometimes!), I've figured out that people say that because it's true. One year ago today, this happened:
And time both stopped and started at once. I put my career on hold only to find my new purpose as your Mom. You and I both spent many sleepless nights figuring out naps, eating, pooping, and all the other things a woman in her thirties takes for granted. I can remember the warmth of your head on my chest for the first time even still, yet suddenly here you are now:
And this is nothing compared to what the next few birthdays will bring. When I was in my twenties, I felt like I was constantly ready for the next thing, waiting for the next adventure. Now, all I want is to find the brake pedal and be here with you for awhile.
Anna B, you will never know how much we love you. Sure, we'll tell you and you'll hear the words, and sometimes you'll get close to feeling it, but you could never know just how much. There is no measurement for it, but this picture comes close:
Someday, maybe when you are a woman in your thirties yourself, you'll look at this and be able to understand how happy we are at this moment. How completely blessed we are to have each other as we go forward, wherever life takes us.
So with that, a woman in her thirties wipes away her tears as she finishes her letter to her baby girl. Year one is over; we did it. Logically speaking, I think it's safe to say this has been the best year of your life. What you don't know is that it's also been the best year of mine.