My baby is one.
It is bittersweet, I tell you.
I don’t even know how to feel.
The week leading up to his birthday, I was anxious and stressed and a tad angry at nothing in particular.
We had a lovely party with many babies and adults swarming about the apartment eating good cheese and my sorry-attempt-at-copying-Magnolia-icing cupcakes. Later we walked to the other side of the park to enjoy the They Might Be Giants concert. Sadly, my phone died right as we reached the gate of the band shell, so it is a minor miracle that I found anyone at all. I did find the familyo and a few other friends. Much dancing and clapping ensued.
That evening, Trucker, who had been happy and perky his whole birthday long, got a fever. He still kind of has the fever. A baby hangover of sorts, I suppose. His doctor wasn’t at all surprised, saying that most babies either get sick the day after or the day before their first birthdays. Harumph. He’s been very clingy and needy and, well, babyish all week. I guess maybe I need that right now.
I am very excited to have clean laundry that smells good again (no more perfume-free wimpy-a$$ stuff for us. Hello Tide!) I’m happy to turn around his car seat and see his sweet face looking at me. Yes, I did read the report that they should stay facing back until they turn two. That’s fine if your child is not in the 95th percentile for height. Mine is and his seat is facing forward, thank you very much. He doesn’t need his toes in his ears. I’m happy that he has lived so long and is so healthy and happy. The fact that he is my last baby and my last baby’s baby year is over is astonishing to me. I don’t even understand it one bit. I feel like I gave birth yesterday. Well, my lady parts don’t, thank goodness, but my heart does.