I have known my son for 365 days. I have been a mother for 365 days. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday that I walked into that Florida hospital room and met him; other days it feels like he’s been a part of me forever.
I love my little josi bear. I love the way he gets so excited to see his daddy…it always makes me smile. I like the way his curiosity is always on high alert- the way he scans his eyes and strains his neck to look. Everything is a new adventure to him. I love the way he tries to feed brinks…as if he knows this makes her happy. I love his body contortions as he tries to fit through spaces too small for his head and I am continually amazed at his strength to persevere.
He’s still my little baby but sometimes I do realize he’s growing…like when I notice that I can attach his bib a lot easier- he actually has a neck now, a skinny one. Or when I hold his hand in mine- I notice that it now takes up the entirety of my palm. I see his growth in the way he understands commands and gets excited to see familiar faces and in how he manuevers tiny cheerios and it always makes me realize that he is, in fact, growing up.
It’s a delicate balance I think; of wanting him to grow up and wanting him to stay little forever. Some days I love his dependency on me and other days I can’t wait until he can dress himself. I want to cherish these moments because I already look back at some of his stages in this first year and long for them. I really miss the tiny little body curl he had as a newborn and the way he snuggled into the crook of my neck to fall asleep. But then I think about how he claps for no reason now and I love that too. He makes himself laugh constantly- and makes life seem so entertaining even in the mundane.
It’s been a whole year. I have a one year old. Forgive me while I remind myself of this impossibility…I don’t have to count by months anymore. I have another person to celebrate birthdays with. And he’s mine. I like this. A lot.