Let me begin by just giving out a big, gigantic sigh. SIGHHHHHHH. I’m laying in bed, the day after H’s first birthday, and I’m hit with a wave of emotions. Happy, excited, joyous, reminiscent, sad, and now I’m misty eyed. My baby’s now one. She’s no longer a baby. Well, she’s my baby, but she’s not a baby anymore. She walks on her own. She stands at the kitchen gate and yells at me for “banana”. She plays Animal Crossing in my Switch. She’s interested in getting dressed and how clothes work, and has started “brushing” her teeth and hair. She’s definitely not a baby anymore.
Her birthday went well. I decorated the night before, printed out a photo albums worth of photos (you can sum up a new person’s life in 150 photos, I found out). I baked a cake from scratch, stressed out about whether I should give her a real cake or a low sugar one (we went with low sugar). She loved it. The balloons were a big hit, and she avoided popping any. We only introduced a few new toys because she got overwhelmed very quickly, but we anticipated it.
I made a video, showing my favorite moments from the past year. I paired it with a song that was used in Futurama, one played at a heartwarming scene. I cried while making it. In 3 minutes, I watched my baby grow up. I couldn’t stop wondering how it had already been a year. Time during covid seemed like it stood still, but here was my proof against that. She grew by the day.
I pulled out the outfit we brought her home in from the hospital. It was so tiny. She weighed less than our cat when she was born. I keep trying to figure out how? How was this toddler so fragile and tiny at one point? She walks around pointing as things she notices, reveling in each day, but it feels like last week that she slept against me constantly as I spent my mornings (or was it nights? time melted together in the newborn phase) in the tv room, dozing off with the tiny warm baby on me. My husband and I would switch shifts, only seeing each other in passing as one would wake up and take the baby, and the other go to bed.
I want to bottle up this time, so I have it forever. Her gentle voice, her tiny handprints all over everything, the way she teeters as she walks. I want to remember it all. These last couple weeks have been rough on me, emotionally. My baby is no longer a baby. And I’m okay with that. But it happened so much quicker than I anticipated.