The day I've dreaded for 364 days has arrived. Somehow I knew that the moment he turned 1 would be the moment that forced me to face the fact that no matter what we do, kids always grow up.
I told Tim today that I needed to be alone soon for just a little while so I could have a healthy cry. A cry about everything I've gained over the last year. A cry over my growing boy. A cry of losing babyhood. A cry about the scary future of no more babies staring at me in the face. It will be a bittersweet cry, and I am sort of looking forward to it.
Timmy is--as I have said before--an absolute light in my life. His smile and bright eyes turn away any dark from my days. Sometimes when I am feeling blue, I can't wait for him to wake up from a nap because I know that feeling will fade away within minutes of being with him. I am forever grateful that God allowed me to have a son.
What can I say about Timmy at 1? Well, he reminds me of the main character in Harold and the Purple Crayon. I love his round face and wispy hair. He eats everything but green vegetables. He spits them out the moment they touch his tongue. He adores his sisters and is always searching the house for them when they're gone. He crawls like a maniac and is pretty resilient to all the tumbles he endures. He loves to play with the strings on my sweatshirts, and he grabs at my nose when he nurses. He loves when I blow raspberries in his neck and on his thighs. He has the most delicious hands. I would freeze time just to freeze the growth of those dimpled things. He's probably been my easiest baby when it comes to going to other people; he at least allows other people to hold him. My girls were a bit crazy when it came to anyone helping me. He is everything I could've asked for, and I am so happy that I have slowed down this year to enjoy every bit of him. He has made motherhood so enjoyable, and I hope it continues.
Happy birthday baby boy. You are my love. Thank you for being my son.