I can’t believe it. My baby boy is one year old today. A toddler. To some, no longer a baby. And to look at him, he really is a little boy. But there are still some moments, like tonight when I was holding him before I put him in his crib, that he is still my sweet little baby boy, with chubby cheeks and tiny nose, and his little pout that he’s always had when he sleeps. I have to confess, I cried a little as I watched him sleep cuddled up in my arms.
He started off a tiny baby that looked downright pissed at the hand he was dealt in life. He seriously looked like Mr. Magoo. In fact, that was his first nickname. Now, he’s this giggly, wiggly, sweet, loving little boy that drowns me in kisses and hugs every day.
I can’t believe how quickly and strongly I fell in absolute love with him. There was instant ‘wow, you are my baby’ love right in the delivery room, but in all the post partum fog, it didn’t really hit me in the gut until a couple of days after. And that love has grown as strongly and as quickly as the little boy that inspires it.
I’m proud of the woman/person I have become because of him. I am proud that I am able to (for the first time in my life) take control and be decisive. I may not be this in any other area in my life, but I love that I know what my baby needs. And I love that one of the things he needs most is me. I love being the one that can comfort him best, the one who knows how to make him giggle when he’s crying, the one that can tell whether he’s hungry or sleepy.
This year has gone by so incredibly fast. I’m really happy that I have enjoyed and cherished every second that I could, soaking up every moment as it became a warm memory.