Dear Henry,
Happy birthday, little man! Today you're one whole year old. Add 20 more to that and before you know it you'll be buying beer all by yourself. You're in for a fascinating ride, son, fasten your seat belt. I wasn't sure what I was going to write about this month. Seems like something extraordinary is in order given this is the finale to your first year on the planet. It's bigger than mere milestones. You are ONE. So I think I'll go back to the beginning and give you the scoop on how you came to be.
When your pops and I decided to have a baby we braced ourselves for a long and arduous journey to parenthood with lots of sex. You see, many folks told us it could take awhile to make a baby and we were sort of banking on that so we were prepared for you to show up later rather than sooner. I don't know how many other potential pre-babies were competing with you on the day of the big swim but you won that race and we got pregnant the first month. (I'm pretty sure it was the fourth attempt.) Your dad was with me on the day we bought the at-home pregnancy test. Things felt drastically different so I was already pretty sure I was in the business of growing a human and this sort of freaked me out. Talking about having a baby is one thing, actually being with child is another. Without telling your pops I took the test and for one whole day I was the only person who knew you were coming. He was pretty excited to learn the news.
Being pregnant with you was a curious affair. We dubbed you the "Resident Alien" ("R.A." for short) 'cuz you reminded me of the alien that bursts out of that guy's stomach in that one Sigourney Weaver movie. You caused a wee bit of morning sickness; it lasted through the first
and second trimesters, and had me puking once in a wastebasket at work when I made an unsuccessful attempt to run to the restroom. Luckily it was six o'clock in the morning and the office was void of people. It doesn't surprise me now that you have a strong liking for cheese as that was one of my diet staples while you were in utero. Some things I hope not to forget include the lopsided way in which you chose to position yourself. When glimpsing down at my belly, I was likely to find the right side protruding noticeably farther out than the left. You were fond of kicking and performing what felt like somersaults. And you were camped out on my bladder for much of the nine months, which meant I spent a lot of my time going to or coming from the bathroom. Had there been a pee champion of the world contest, your presence would have helped me win it.
I have to be honest, kiddo, we had not a clue what to do with a baby, but it's not for lack of reading. I spent countless hours while you were incubating reading books on parents and parenting and how to be parents who parent correctly. I have a mini library on the subject. The real reason we weren't prepared is because we failed to realize having a baby meant we would no longer be able to sleep. It's surprising how little sleep we as parents got considering how much you as baby slept during those first few weeks. You'd think we would have just curled up beside you and grabbed some shut-eye of our own during your bouts of napping but usually we hung around and stared at your perfectness. "Look at his ears." "Did you see his toes?" "Oh, my God, he's perfect." That's pretty much the gist of every conversation we had about you until, well, we haven't actually stopped having that conversation.
One of the coolest things about you is your inquisitive nature. You examine everything, from the kitchen cabinet containing all of the Ziploc and Tupperware to the piece of sock fuzz between your toes. Nothing escapes your attention. You are bigger and stronger and more mobile than you were on the day we first brought you home. You read books upside down and front to back. And by read, I mean, flip through the pages randomly before tossing it aside to pick up the next item of interest. You climb. Anything and everything. There is a fascination you have with cars and balls that leaves us dumbfounded. You didn't get that from me or your pops. But you are equally satisfied playing with your dish set, which we both take credit for. You say "mama" for me, "dada" for your pops, and "ball" for ball. "Bah" is inclusive of everything else, although I swear I've heard a sound similar to "cah," come out of your mouth. You were pointing at a minivan. Let's face it, that's hardly a car but we'll let it slide. You have plenty of time to learn nuance.
I had no idea how much having you would change us. The second you were born you became the best thing in our world. Now I realize you are our world.
Love,
Mom
We drove out to see Cousin Amels. She is sure friendly. After a nice and close personal greeting, she showed me where the trick-or-treaters would be knocking and the legs of the table where the candy was stashed.
Helping Cousin Amels become a bee is a two-person job. My aunt and uncle had to work together to make it happen. Then the transition was complete and Cousin Amels was a bee.
I don't know if she found life particularly entertaining as a bee. It was hard to crawl with the big bee belly. And the hat sort of flapped in her face like my bangs flop in my eyes.
So she gave up life as a bee and posed for my mom while I played with her Elmo. Cousin Amels doesn't mind sharing her toys.
Time passes quickly at my aunt and uncle's house. Cousin Amels had some dinner and I took off to examine the kitchen. Probably would be a bit easier if my mom would take me to get my hairs cut. Seriously, people, it's gettin' hard to see up in here.
