Happy Birthday

We didn't kill you.

There was that incident on the stairs with the broken leg. A broken leg at five months, kiddo. On my watch.  There was the bad man who messed with us at the store and got caught -(and that's before the karma gods have even had their chance with him yet). The header off the couch. The dog that ran over you. Twice. The endless "what a beautiful boy!s" and that Harlow imposter.  You emerged unscathed, not just unscathed but radiant. For that my sweet, beautiful baby girl, we are going to celebrate your arrival into the world and, despite our bungling, ridiculous efforts into the thing known as parenting, our success in keeping you in it.

This time one year ago. Your father is really interested in my bathroom habits. Famously private about his own, he seems nearly gleeful that my stomach is churning and and looking to get rid of the Last Supper we spent at the Beauty Shop. We have an appointment to meet you at the hospital in the morning. This is the strangest thing I've ever heard of, but I have the diabetes, and they are ready to get you out of me and make sure you aren't one of them giant Russian babies. And frankly, the way my stomach and other body parts are heaving, I'm not minding the induction so much.  

Tonight. The eve of your first birthday. I am in bed with possibly allergies/strep/flu/mad cow, so it seems a little ironical but fitting that we complete the circle. We started off your entry to the world with me feeling crappy and ditto today. But that's kind of the point, right? Mother Nature doesn't care about Martha Stewart craft paper and pirate booty and ukulele music. She cuts through the BS. And taking my cue from her, this is what I think about all this hoopla.

I get it now when people tell pregnant first timers that "it" is the best thing in the world. I hated it  when people said it to me, and  I now repeat it. "It" is still terrifying. It is the hardest thing I've ever done. I will complete the cliche and say it is the most rewarding thing I've ever done, because that is also true. No one would have babies if they truly knew of the ten-headed hydra change monster that lay in store. But then I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't have the privilege to fall in love with your dad and then get to have the butterfly/queasy/you hung the moon feelings for you, too, and for us all to legally live together. I am in awe of your potential. People shake their heads when they see you pull up and cruise, murmuring about your growing up so fast. But I say bring it on. You are the world's most beautiful, amusing, energetic dining companion, cat torturer and piano lover, and you just get more interesting every day.

Here's to 365 more, baby girl. Minus the broken bones. 

I love you.

Mama