One year old!

Dear Clementine:

Warning: here comes the schmaltz. Last night I had a lot of good stuff to tell you, but a rough night's sleep, an evil day at work and a private birthday celebration have knocked it out of me. What remains borders on greeting card but comes straight from my heart.

Last night your dad and I stayed up late and talked about the night we experienced one year ago, the night you came into the world. When we tell the story to other people, we always talk about how I didn't know I was in labor, how quick it all went once we decided to get to the hospital, how easy the labor seemed in retrospect (though I think there are still a few nurses at the hospital who have their own stories of how not easy I was making it). What we don't talk about with other people are the hours the three of us spent after all that, after the nurses and midwife left, after all the drama of your arrival. Remind me to tell you about those sweetest of hours someday, as they are the closest thing to nirvana and pure, true I've ever experienced. I can't wait to sit down with you (when you are at a point that you understand more than where your tummy and ears are) and tell you all about the moment my whole life changed. Before you came along, I thought I had everything all figured out, and I was even a little cynical about life. But you have, from the moment you arrived, opened me to a world I can't explain to anyone else (though look how hard I try), and someday I hope I'll be able to explain it to you.

Tonight for your birthday your dad and I chased you around the house, took you on a bike ride, watched you eat lasagna and then surf on your Sit and Spin (you seem unclear on the concept of "sit") while saying "Hi Daddy" and "Mamamama" before bath and bed time. Who would have thought that in just a year you would learn to do so many things like recognize us, smile, move your appendages and eat real food, much less roll over, crawl, walk and even talk? You are a miracle, and every day with you is amazing.

I started these monthly letters to you late and then let them drop off the last few months. I had high hopes for this one-year note being the end-all, be-all, but I think I've realized in the last year that when trying to balance all the stuff I want to say to future you and spending time with the actual you, I need to always stick with present Clementine. It's not that I want these precious first moments to slip away or run together (though they are) and won't sacrifice time at work or with your dad to record this for us, it's just that I am so happy being with you and thinking about you that these letters don't seem so important. When I was still settling into this role of mother, still working out the kinks and feeling like I was the first woman in time to ever ever be a mother, they were helpful for me, like a diary or journal. As I grow more confident, I need that outlet less.

But I still want to treasure this one-year anniversary of you, and I'd like to take a minute to tell you some things. I have no idea what the future will bring to either of us. What I do know is that you are the single best thing I've done with my life, and bringing you into my wonderful family with your dad has brought me nothing but happiness and unfathomable joy. No matter how either of us mess up, how we drift apart (or don't) or what we become, I will always remember the first moment I held you in my arms and fell in love with you. You can do nothing to change or sever this, and you must always know I love you no matter what.

See, I told you this would be cheesy. What mom doesn't feel this way about her kid? Still, I want it on record that I will strive to let you feel this love every day. I make all decisions with you in mind (but not in a creepy, I'm-nothing-but-my-kids kind of way) and really can't wait for all our future adventures. I'm sorry I'm so lame and haven't said anything more meaningful here. I want to get back downstairs to sort through the millions of pictures I took this weekend at your birthday party, and I need to clean up the kitchen from dinner. See, kid? This is life. I'm so happy you're a part of mine.

Happy Birthday, peanut.

Love,
Mama