One Year Old

Dear Joseph -
You recently had your very first birthday.  You are ONE, and it's hard for me to believe this day came as quickly as it did.

For me, a good part of your first year was defined by your first few weeks in the hospital, and how much that changed me.  It's true what they say - that you never know how strong you are until you have no other option - but nothing could quite ever prepare me to sit by the bedside of my newborn son in the middle of the night, watching your every breath on a monitor and counting how many breaths you were taking in comparison to how many the ventilator was taking for you; to wake and hobble to your bedside, praying you were still alive, still breathing, still responding to touch and stimuli.

But you did it, little man. You were strong from the start.  I'll often catch our friends and family quietly watching you as you play, and then they will say something like "he's just perfect" or "he's amazing."  But you know no differently, and even though I've spent the better part of the last year healing my battered, wounded soul, you healed and haven't looked back.

You spend your days in a flurry of activity, and I can't quite keep up.  You climb slides and knock over towers and empty kitchen cabinets. You unroll the toilet paper and climb on the fireplace and find every tiny scrap of paper and dust on the floor.  But even so, you are gentle and loving. You give kisses and then smack your lips, and give hugs to your baby dolls and stuffed animals.  You love to sing and dance, and I often find you find you playing with a little doghouse toy that sings songs, dancing every time you successfully push the button to play a song.

You are learning to walk, each day you're a little braver and a little steadier than the one before. Last week, we were reading stories in Nora's room before nap/quiet time, and you stood up, steadied yourself, took a few steps, and fell down over and over and over again. You must've done it twenty times, at least. The look on your face was pure determination, and you never got mad when you fell - just got back up and tried again.

Right now, you're in that awkward transition between two naps a day and one. I'm never quite sure exactly how the day will go. Predictable, you are not, my little friend.

Though you mostly communicate through grunts and gestures, you have a few words.  Your favorite is "Zay-zays," your name for our dog, Zadie. Every morning you excitedly point to her and say her name, as if you thought she was going away and decided to stay home at the last minute.  You love her a lot, and she loves eating the food that you drop on the floor. She puts up with you rather well, actually, and you've even stolen food out of her bowl during her dinnertime without her getting upset, which isn't something she allows anyone else to do.  (This does, indeed, mean that I've had to swipe dog food out of your mouth several times.)   You also exclaim "Zay-zays" every time you see the LeapFrog puppy on the baby "laptop" screen, and I find it just plain wonderful that you think Zadie is also the official spokesdog of the vTech corporation.

Whenever you're looking for Nora, you say "Raaaa-raaaa" in a singsong voice. Nora thinks this is the coolest thing ever. You two are best buddies, often giggling together while you "chase" her or she babbles nonsense words to you.  One day last week, Nora and I were tossing a ball to each other. This ball is normally an "outside toy" because it's too big and bouncy for the house. She started kicking it, so I gave the old standard mom reply: "If you keep kicking it, I'm going to put it back outside." Of course, it wound up back outside. When I came back in, you were both in the tent in the playroom, and she was saying to you "I came in here because I just want my mom to just leave me alone! Do you ever want your mom to just leave you alone? ... Aw, hi. Do you want to snuggle with me?"  So, thanks for being her buddy. There's going to come a time when she's a teenager and she wants nothing to do with me, but you're going to be her person.  Do me a favor and put in a good word for me from time to time, okay?


The other night, you had a babysitter, and you were napping when we left. We debating whether it would be better to wake you up before we left or let the babysitter get you when you woke up on your own - we were nervous you would be scared that the babysitter was there and wonder where we were. We ultimately decided to let you sleep, thinking you would be more mad if we woke you from a good nap and then passed you to someone "new" (new to you) almost right away. When we got home, she said you cried a little bit when you woke up (which you sometimes do anyway), but as soon as Nora came upstairs, she sang you a song, and then you were fine. Her rendition of Supercalafragalisticexpealadocious always calms you, so it's often our go-to way to settle you down if you get mad, especially when we're driving.

Having you in the house is sort of like hanging out with a tiny drunken man 24 hours a day.  You are wildly unpredictable, often a danger to yourself, and have no inhibitions.  You crawl away during diaper changes and pee on the floor. You take a few steps, lose your balance, and fall down. Today at the library, you walked (yes, walked) over to the play kitchen, picked up a pan full of random plastic food, and dumped it all over the floor. Then you went over to a bookshelf with little board books and took them all off the shelf. I followed behind, picking everything up, when I heard someone chuckling to the side.  It was another parent, and he said "I'm just remembering when my son was at that stage." I laughed and said "he's definitely a force of destruction right now."

Feeding you is a hilarious adventure: aside from the fact that you out-eat your sister most meals, you eat messily with your hands, staining all of your clothes. You get upset if you see a banana or a canister of baby puffs, because you need it RIGHT NOW.  I still nurse you in the morning and before bed, and you eat three full meals a day and at least two snacks, and you still get mad when someone else is eating and not sharing with you.  Daddy took you and Nora to Chick-fil-a a few days ago and in the time it took Nora to eat one chicken strip, you ate 4 nuggets, her other chicken strip, one of Daddy's nuggets, an applesauce pouch, and all of the blueberries out of the fruit cup.  You are small in comparison to the other babies your age, but I have no idea how, because you eat like a teenage boy.

You're a miracle, little brother.  Sometimes I wonder why my whole pregnancy with you and your first few weeks went like it did, and all I can figure is that God has really big plans for you. I don't know what they are, but I know you'll figure it out in time.  You're a superhero, and I'm so glad I get to be your mama.

I love you.
Mommy