Turning One

Dear Jack,

Somehow your first birthday has completely snuck up on me. How can you be one already? You are still such a little baby. I mean, yes, you have six teeth and have said your first word. Yes, you can drink out of a straw and eat table food. Sure you sleep through the night and are working on taking only one nap a day. Yes, you crawl faster than I can walk without starting to jog and have even taken 2-3 steps on your own. But you are my sweet little baby boy.

Sigh. I know, I know. I'm holding on to the past.

In fact, so much so that (and don't tell your dad this), I have woken you up twice in the last week just 'cause I felt like holding my sleeping baby one more time before he turns into a toddler and sadly, it was already too late. You don't like to be held asleep any more. You like to sleep in your own bed. So I've had to be the grown-up and let sleeping babies, I mean, almost toddlers, lie.

But I'm not happy about it.

You cried today and I rushed over to hold you. Your dad started to explain that your sister had landed, hard, on your hand, with her knee, as though I needed a reason to hold my baby boy.

(Thanks, Syd, for giving me a reason to hold my baby boy.)

I've been a teacher too long not to know how bad it is for children when their parents won't let them grow up, so I'm going to let you.

Really I am.

But I'm going to grouse along the way. On this blog, which you can't read just yet.

Because to your face, I'm forced to cheer you own as you take steps and mimic words. Because I love you.

A lot.

So much that I'm willing to let you grow up. Even though I don't want to.

Love,
Mom