It was exactly a year ago that your mom’s water broke while she was sitting next to me on the couch and your folks rushed to the hospital.
I held you when you were 12 hours old. And I cried the whole time.
I couldn’t believe you were here. That you were mewing and that I could comfort you so you’d stop.
I couldn’t believe when you stopped being kind of blobby, when you could hold your head up, and began to grab for things.
Or when you started reaching for me because you knew who I was.
I couldn’t believe it when you started really smiling and laughing.
Or when you started eating real food.
Or when your red hair started coming in. Or your long, striking eye lashes.
I couldn’t believe it when you started making lots of noise, which turned into words. When you clearly said “ball” or learned to say “bubble.”
I couldn’t believe it when you started to wave and blow kisses and push with strength and shrug.
I cannot believe what an amazing dancer you are.
Or how fast you learn.
I can’t believe how fast a year has gone. How much my life has changed since you were born. How fast you have grown. How MUCH you have grown.
I can’t wait until you start calling me by name. And when you start hugging me back.
I can’t wait to have conversations with you about your doggy and your mommy and your favorite book and your homework and boys and college and your career.
You are JUST about to start walking and talking.
Which means you are about to take over the world.
It is yours.
I love you.
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