I love my little newborns. They are magic and fragile and their entire existence seems wholly impossible. I can’t even think of holding one of my tiny new ones with out feeling ridiculously strong emotions.
I know, I know. We never want to wish any stage away. Waiting for tomorrow . . . there is probably some perfectly coined little statement about that . . . something about always waiting for tomorrow leaving us with nothing but a bunch of empty yesterdays. Or something.
But, I do think, even if we aren’t waiting for something exactly – even if we are enjoying the days as they come – we can still look back and be pretty happy over what time – all those cumulative tomorrows that have become our yesterdays – has gone and given us. I love that a year of living has produced a little independent soul who sleeps through the night, and feeds himself (albeit rather messily), and says a few tiny animal sounds and words, and tries to walk with wobbily little side steps that end in a fall, and zooms cars about the house.
It is impossible to celebrate that first birthday with out thinking back to that very day a year earlier – everything so new and unknown and life changing. And while there is inevitably some sadness over how quickly it has past, it is also a very happy thing to see how that moment of life-changing has worked its little change and settled itself so happily into your normal.
And now a few pics of the birthday boy: