On the occasion of your fourth birthday

It's funny how it happens - one day you're three, and then you wake up the next morning as a newly minted four year old. The whole day is a celebration of you and you, beautiful boy, reveled in it.

After I got a birthday smile out of you (it's not hard - saying "stinky ____" usually does the trick, because you're you and you think talking about stinky things is just the funniest thing ever), I tried for a quick photo of all three of you. Amidst all the squirming and blinking and grimacing and fooling around, I managed to get this one. Your sister is actually looking at the camera, your brother is doing his very best to look and smile and not move a muscle, and you're just patiently smiling away. You know this is your day.

As group pictures usually do, the chaos soon morphed into your sister sitting on your lap trying to rip your jaw off while you laughed and laughed. She loves you and you are endlessly patient with her. Good thing, too, since this sort of thing often happens.

Then we took some selfies. Because selfies are cool, yo.

And yes, I'm wearing a scarf. Our new house is freezing. I miss the gas fireplace in our old house. The lovely husband laughs at me for wearing a scarf in the house, but I'm warm and he's cold so who's laughing now, huh? I knit that scarf a couple of years ago and it is the softest smooshiest thing ever.

Birthday pictures taken care of, you and your brother went off to play. You came out a few minutes later, having been transformed once again into a princess. Sometimes you're a knight, sometimes a princess; it's all good with you.

I snapped the picture, you gave birth to a baby, your brother caught it ("It's a girl!"), and the two of you ran off again. Congratulations on your new bundle of joy.

You came back every half hour or so to ask if you could pleeeeeease just open one present, but I made you wait until your daddy got home from work. Sorry buddy. We went to IHOP for lunch because that's what you asked for, then came home to wait out those last hours until you could finally see what was in those wrapped packages.

At last it was time.

You were thrilled to get the Lego Mirkwood Elf Army from your grandma. Lego and the Hobbit, two of your three favourite things.

Your daddy read The Hobbit to you guys as a bedtime story last year, and you soaked it all up. Now he's reading The Lord of the Rings - you three are nearing the end of The Two Towers - and none of us expected how head-over-heals you would fall for that world of elves and wizards and orcs and men. You know details that I don't even know, talk about it all the time, pretend to be Gandalf or Boromir or any of your other favourites. Nearly every day you come up to me and say let's talk about Lord of the Rings! or do you want me to tell you who I like best in Lord of the Rings? and I listen and nod and tell you my favourites too (Aragorn, without a doubt, and Gandalf too).

Your love for that world is so strong that there is, of all things, a Gollum hanging on our Christmas tree. I just never in a hundred years would have expected that, but there he is, swinging away next to my 1983 Baby's First Christmas bulb. You saw him on that day when we were choosing this year's Christmas ornaments and there was no budging. Gollum or nothing, that was your stance, so Gollum it was. Thanks, Hallmark.

You also loved the costume your Oma made for you. The accompanying card said that opinions varied as to what exactly it was - possibly a bear, a wolf, or a even beaver - but you didn't hesitate. "It's a Minotaur!" you roared, and you gave us an appropriately frightening growl. Minotaurs are your new favourite mythical beast, so sure, we'll go with that.

You had already received most of your birthday gifts when we celebrated your half birthday, because you had to wait an extra week past your due date and placed your birthday precariously close to Christmas, with its own influx of gifts. Still, your daddy and I couldn't resist the one present that was sure to earn us that long-lashed wide-eyed grin and squeal that we love so much.

Hockey shirts. Four of them, from four of your favourite hockey teams. When I said Lego and the Hobbit were two of your three favourite things, hockey would be that missing third.

"Winnipeg Jets!" you shouted, except that you pronounce it "win-a-pig", always, every time, no matter how many times I try to correct you. The Jets were followed by Chicago Blackhawks (and a little squirm of joy from you), Buffalo Sabres, and Nashville Predators. The teams that will never make it into our house if your dad has any say? Boston Bruins (the "big bad Bruins"), Ottawa Senators (this is a Toronto Maple Leafs home, thankyouverymuch), and Montreal Canadiens.

After a dinner of your requested birthday meal, salmon and rice, it was time for cake. You asked for a strawberry cake with pink icing, so I found an appropriate recipe and gave it a go. You were pleased, at any rate.

You blew out the flickering flames and started licking the icing off the candles.

Then you licked the icing off your slice of cake and declared yourself full.

A birthday just wouldn't be complete without one more little surprise before bedtime. Sparklers on the balcony were just the thing, I thought, and you and your siblings agreed.

The only birthday wish you didn't get? There was no snow for the snowman you'd hoped to build. Well, there's nothing a mother can do about the weather...but you just never know what God might have in store for you the following morning.

Happy fourth birthday, my beautiful boy. Two days ago you were my favourite three year old. Now you're my favourite four year old. I love you.

Today you are six

You woke up this morning to balloons everywhere, because it's your birthday and birthdays demand balloons. Or, at least, you did, last night when you asked me if there'd be balloons like there were on my last birthday and I just smiled and winked and said you'll see. Balloons on the walls, on the floor, on sticks (which I regretted all the day long, four kids here and all those sticks just searching for someone's eyeball), even stuck in the jar of yellow tulips currently brightening up our kitchen. Yes, my love, balloons just like there were on your last birthday.

Ah, my love. You chided me recently when I called your brother that - you can't call him "my love" because he's a boy, and only girls can be "my love" - but you had no answer when I asked you why. You're deciding that some things are "girl things" and some things are "boy things", and that's okay because it's all part of figuring out who you are and where you fit in in this crazy world. You had a friend inform you not long ago that pink was a "girl's colour" and so you decided that your favourite colour was now red instead. At home, though, where you're safe and free, you still asked for pink icing on your cake as you shared your sparkly strings of beaded necklaces with your little brother. The two of you made fine royalty with your "jewels" around your neck and your wooden swords in hand.

And so a pink cake it was. Chocolate on the inside, because of course, and quinoa too because your mom's a little weird, sorry. The dinosaur sprinkles on top finished it off perfectly. We baked it and decorated it together; you even pointed out where you wanted me to place your candles. You chose spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread for dinner, then hummed happy birthday to yourself as I lit the candles on your cake. You blew half of them out as soon as I set it in front of you, the rest of us only just beginning to sing, and you blew out the remainder when the song was over. Your Oma and Opa joined us, making it a real party around the table.

We'll pick up the party again on Saturday, head over to the pool because being six means you can finally, at long last, go on that waterslide you've been eyeing ever since you were three. Yes, half your life you've waited for this day, and I can't wait to watch that first much-anticipated slide. You asked for your dearest friend and her family to join us, and they said yes even though they've moved out of the city; we are truly blessed with the best sort of friends, aren't we?

It struck me today that turning six meant we were already a third of the way to 18. I only get to do this whole raising you thing two more times over and then you're an adult, and I know my role doesn't end at that moment but it will certainly change. These first six years have passed just as quickly as everyone warned me they would, and I have made so very many mistakes. But oh child, you are a delight. Helpful and kind, thoughtful and loving, some days I wonder at the person you are becoming in spite of my failures. I notice the way you let your little brother help open your gifts so he doesn't feel left out, the way your biggest smiles are always saved for your baby sister, the way you write little notes to those you love, so many other things that show you for the caring person you are. You ask hard questions and my answers never quite feel like enough, but you listen so seriously all the same.

Right now you're laying awake in your room, ever my night owl, listening to music while your brother sleeps beside you. Your tastes are eclectic; today it was Great Big Sea and The Beatles, while tomorrow could just as likely be Fred Penner or a Curious George audio book. Your first mixed CD is still your favourite, though, because bagpipes and hymns and Christmas music and 50s rock should definitely be played at every opportunity.

You, this firstborn child of mine, are the most fascinating creature I have yet to meet. Thank you for leading me so gently through all these motherhood firsts. Happy birthday, my darling. I love you so much more than I can say.

A Letter to Myself

It's my birthday and this letter is my gift to myself...
_____________________

Dear Self,

Today you begin the final year of your twenties.

You are learning, slowly, what it is to love others. My hope now is that you would continue to the "as yourself" part, loving what our Creator God knit together in your mother's womb.

You haven't always been kind to your body. Once upon a time you tried to starve it away, blind to who you were and who you would one day be. You despised your body and you despised your own powerlessness, your lack of a voice, and it was a terrible combination.

But you've found your voice these past few years, haven't you?

You've found your voice but you've lost your early-twenties body. You're starting to notice that loss more - an unexpected glimpse of dimpled thighs, a grimace when you glance at the red rivers running over your growing belly, a wave of embarrassment when you see yourself captured in a photo.

As you finish off this decade of your life, I encourage you to learn to love what is, not what was. Let me help you.

Your hands are beautiful. Today your hands are swollen; your wedding ring is stuck and you joke to your husband that there's no escape for you now, the ring won't come off. But those same swollen hands pulled a sliver out of your boy's foot, rubbed your toddler's back as he cried, and stroked your husband's hair. They daily prepare food; they scrub dishes with cloths they themselves have knit. They turn the pages of books and tap out your stories on the computer. They nurture yourself and your family and your home. Your hands are beautiful.

Your arms are beautiful. They lack the definition they once had, but not the strength. They are strong enough to lift growing boys, comforting enough to rock them to sleep, and long enough to embrace them both at once. They pull your husband close as you greet him. They lift and carry and hold and serve. Your arms are beautiful.

Your stomach is beautiful. The skin is stretched around your third child and will stretch even more over the next few weeks. The rivers run red and silver over it, memories of the months they held your other two babies. Your belly button is stretched beyond recognition; you once dreamed a teenager's dream of showing it off with a cute navel ring, but now you wish it would just stop showing through every shirt you wear. And you know what's coming next, the saggy belly, the pouch that jiggles with each heartbeat, the same one that made you cry out of sheer shock as you showered after the birth of your oldest. You'd known all about cracked breastfeeding nipples and sleepless nights and how to relieve the tenderness down there, but no one had prepared you for the sight of your post-birth belly.

But oh, that stomach. It has safely cradled your babies for twenty-six months so far, wrapping them in a blanket of security and warmth. It was once home to your lanky growing boy and your silly wide-eyed toddler. It now serves as their comforting pillow. Your husband admires its various curves. It holds you steady as you hold steady to your boys. It is your core - weak, stretched, scarred, and saggy, but beautiful most of all.

Your feet are beautiful. A long scar lines each of them from a childhood surgery. Like your hands, they are swollen; like the rest of your body, they are tired. But these are the feet that lead the way as your ducklings follow. They walk to the park, the forest, the library. They pace the room as you murmur comforting words to an upset child. They chase (slowly these days) boys with more energy than you can recall ever having. They follow paths both familiar and new. Your feet are beautiful.

Your legs are beautiful. You don't think so; you recently caught an unexpected glimpse of your thighs and stopped, shocked, wondering where those dimples had come from. You used to run and dance, years of cross-country and ballet and track & field and acrobatics. You danced right up until you became pregnant with your first child. You still dance, but now it's the slow circles of a tired mother rocking an even more tired baby, or the silly waltzing of mother and son dancing around the kitchen as they listen to their favourite music. You still run, but it's to scoop up your child and cover his giggling self in kisses. Your legs become seats when you sit down, a lap in constant use by little boys who just like to be close to you, Mommy. Your legs are beautiful.

Your nose is beautiful. You had never even questioned such until the day a boy told you that you were beautiful even though your nose was so big. It was the first time you'd been told that you had a big nose. You ignored the beautiful part but never forgot the part about your nose; you simply accepted the news as fact and incorporated it into your identity. But now that nose buries itself deep in your children's hair and inhales their sweet scent. It breathes in the comforting smell of your husband's Irish Spring soap. It brings the smell of clean rain, salty ocean, hot pavement, sweaty children, and scented flowers. It tickles your babies' necks and they reward you with gales of laughter. Your nose is beautiful.

Your brain is beautiful. Sometimes you feel inferior; you don't know much about this topic, you don't write often about that topic. You forget things too easily. Your mind is not filled with the endless trivia of your encyclopedic husband. You wonder what good your perspective is in this world. But that brain of yours? You use it. You refuse to be told what to think, valuing instead the ability to think. You question and search and dig deeper because you thirst always for authentic understanding. You form your own opinions, holding tightly enough to not be swayed by every challenge that comes your way but not so tightly as to stubbornly ignore new knowledge. You follow your passions. As for days passed, you may not remember everything, but you've got the important things covered; those memories are treasures indeed. Your brain is beautiful.

Your voice is beautiful. Like so many others, you cringe when you hear your recorded voice. Surely you don't sound like that, you think. But it is that same voice that calmly soothes your children as they sob into your shoulder. It is that same voice that they request over and over - sing another one, Mommy! It is that same voice, steady and familiar, that reads them book after endless book. It is that same voice that brings them back to center when they need it. And it is that same voice that makes your husband smile when he hears it, that binds the two of you even closer as you talk into the darkness of the late night. Your voice is beautiful.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made. There is nothing to gain from self-loathing, from desiring an artificial air-brushed body over the scarred and weathered one you have earned over the years. Embrace what is, each moment, because you will only continue to gather the badges of life with each passing decade. This is good.

With love,
Yourself

Linking up with SheLoves...

Five

Five feels big.

Five means half a decade of You, darling, here in our lives, our always-present one and I'm so glad.

Five means kindergarten. It means a wealth of activities that were previously "five and up", because "five and up" now includes you. Five is adventure and courage and everything that was wonderful about four, only bigger.



Five feels big.

Five means memories. Maybe you'll remember four or three or two, but five is almost a guarantee. What will you remember?

Five seems so wise. You talk and ask and wonder and create and every bit of you is pure magic.

Five means you asked for an ice cream cake this year, in lieu of the usual son-chosen-mama-made cake. I only sniffled a little bit.



Five means you built your own Lego fire truck today, instead of searching for pieces while Daddy built it. He only sniffled a little bit.



But five is little, too. You still curl up on my lap while I read you stories. You are happiest when I hold your hand as you drift off to sleep. You still turn to me first for comfort; I am unfailingly humbled by your certainty that I can make everything okay again. You still love the colour pink best because, oh thank you, no one has yet been cruel enough to mock or belittle you for it. You are so little and so big and so perfectly you.

I know you're only one day older today than you were yesterday, but wow. Five.

Five feels big.

My darling four year old

Tomorrow you turn four, my precious boy.

Birthdays always make this momma of yours all sentimental. I start thinking about how much you've grown over the past year, about all the things that make you the unique child you are. You, who first made me a mother. You, who made me understand this sort of crazy love. You, who taught me so much in the four short years you've been in my life.

You have a love for learning that is simply inspirational. Your days are filled with questions, hopping from one subject to the next - hail to lightning to volcanoes to skeletons to vehicles to cars to roller coasters and all the rest.

You asked me recently about the ring on my finger. I told you what it meant and about how your Daddy gave it to me on the day we got married. You asked if you were there. I always wondered how that topic would come up. What would I say? Yes, I told you. You were in my tummy, and you were born shortly after. I wonder how you'll feel about that when you're older. I hope you'll always know how much you were loved and adored right from the beginning. You were the start of so much that is good and wonderful in my life, the catalyst for so much growth and healing. You were the best sort of surprise I could ever be blessed with.

Now you're a big brother, and you're always asking me when we'll have more! Few things make me happier than seeing you and your brother giggling away as you play together. You are so protective of him. I watched you yesterday at playgroup, when your friend yelled at your brother and made him cry. You puffed out your chest and said in your biggest, firmest voice, "do NOT be mean to my brother. He does NOT like that." Your friend quailed under your stern command, and the two of you returned to your playdough while your brother wandered off to find something else to capture his attention. I was so proud of you.

Your assertiveness will serve you well in life. It can be a hard pill to swallow when you're on the receiving end, however. It wasn't long ago that I was taking my bad mood out on you, snapping at you over nothing at all, when you looked at me and gently but firmly told me, "you're making a bad choice right now, Mommy." You were right, I was. I'm grateful that you were able to recognize that and not afraid to make me aware of it, too.

Before I had you, I was nervous about the idea of raising a boy. You have six aunties; girls I can do. Boys were a foreign creature to me. But you - oh, you. You are all boy and I love every dirt-filled minute of it. Just today I cleaned you up so you could go pick up your Oma and Opa from the airport, and we hadn't even made it to the car before you were covered in dirt again. You love nothing more than to run and crash and laugh and fall and run and crash some more. I can't keep you in decent pants; the holes seem to grow in the knees overnight. You are delightfully rough-and-tumble, and I love it.

I don't know how to put your essence down in writing. You are just you. Exuberant, joyful you. Everything you do, you do all-out. The way you move, learn, create, love, you hold nothing back. I am so blessed to have been given the gift of raising you.

Happy birthday, darling.

Vacancy

A week before the baby turned one, I had a sudden moment of clarity. I turned to my half-asleep husband and said, "oh! That explains it!"

"What explains what?" he mumbled.

"It's almost the baby's first birthday! That explains why I've been so aware of my empty womb lately!"

(He groaned in response.)

It was true, though. I had, for the past couple of weeks, been very aware of the fact that a) I had a uterus, and b) it was currently empty.

It wasn't that I actively desired to have another baby right away. I have a baby, and I take care of a second one part time. I'm good in the baby department. If God chooses to bless us with another baby so soon, I will be thrilled, but I'm not currently longing for one.

I am simply very aware of my womb's presence and its current vacancy. It feels very...odd, I think, to have this womb just sitting there, taking up space, not doing anything. Just hanging out in there, vacancy sign flashing.

I can only assume that it was the baby's upcoming birthday that had pushed said vacancy so suddenly to the forefront of my mind. It was when my oldest son turned one that my husband and I started "trying" for a second child. Because I continued to breastfeed our son, however, lactational amenorrhea meant it would be nearly another year before we received our much-coveted positive pregnancy test.

This time, I do not feel the same sense of urgency. My baby is only a year old. My husband and I have chosen, for a number of reasons (physical, emotional, and spiritual) not to use birth control, and breastfeeding allows our children to be naturally spaced, God's perfect design to give a mother's body time to rest between pregnancies. I feel calm this time, content to accept and appreciate that spacing, looking forward to having life fill this vacant womb again but not yearning for it to happen now, on my timing. Instead, I will enjoy and rejoice in my little one's babyhood, being fully present in each moment, not rushing this season away prematurely.

My womb may be vacant, but my heart and my life are so beautifully full.

One

This time
last year
you were barreling through,
steam train waiting for no one,
surprising us all.

You joined us
seamlessly,
one minute curled in my womb,
the next
here
with us,
angry howls filling the room
as I cradled you to my breast.
"Oh. There you are. Hello!"
We brought you to bed with us
just like we had every night
for the nine months before
and the twelve months since.
There you were.

Here you are.
You are all contrasts now.
Still so much a baby,
covered in soft baby skin,
rolls folds and creases.
Closed eyes and open mouth
hunting for
thirst-quenching
nourishment
comfort
snuggles
and yet -

And yet
you are standing on the verge of toddlerhood.
Standing on strong legs
taking those first uncertain steps,
joy and pride bursting forth
from your toothy grin.
Mr. Personality now
with your flirting
and your peek-a-boos,
with your determined wants
and frustrated tears
and angry cries.
Sometimes it's hard to be one.

And now we enter
a new year for you,
and soon
a new year for us too
promising growth
for you, yes
and maybe for us?

My darling baby,
I love you.

Happy birthday.

Happy birthday to me!

And what a great birthday it has been!

After getting to sleep in this morning, I got up to a very excited little boy who wanted me to open my birthday present now. He and my wonderful husband had picked out a pair of amazingly comfortable yoga pants from Lululemon. After that, the boy and I finished making some buckeyes that I had started last night. He had lots of fun dunking them in the melted chocolate, and I had lots of fun cutting up some apples and bananas and having chocolate fondue for lunch with the leftovers.

Hey, it's my birthday. I can have chocolate fondue for lunch if I want to.

The day continued to get better when I bought...a sewing machine! I'm so excited. After returning the sewing machine my mother-in-law had lent me while she was out of the country, I began searching for the perfect machine of my own. I wanted something older and sturdy (rather than the new plastic machines), something with decent functionality, and something that had been well-loved and taken care of by its previous owner. I'd passed up dozens of machines for one reason or another, waiting for the machine that was "the one" - though how I'd know it was the one, I wasn't entirely sure.

Then, yesterday, I saw it. Posted on Craigslist by someone who was sad to see it go, a beautiful old Singer that fit all of my criteria, with one added bonus - it's blue! Unfortunately, it was also twice what I had budgeted. But today, with birthday money from my dear mother-in-law and a nod from my husband, I went ahead and splurged. Happy birthday to me, indeed!

It was especially fun to discover that the woman selling the machine is a birth doula. "The Plan" for a while now has been to get my doula certification when the kiddos are older, do that for a while, then go back to school for midwifery when the kids are grown. Now's not the time for that, with a nursing babe at home, but it's something I'm looking forward to in the future. Anyway, she seemed like someone I'd like to be friends with, but alas, she's moving across the country - thus the selling of her beloved sewing machine. Hopefully I can I give it a home where it will be equally loved and used.

After all of that excitement - sleeping in, fondue for lunch, birthday presents, and a new sewing machine - I enjoyed a rare treat. I got to shower by myself! No little boy fighting me for the best spot under the hot water, no babe-in-arms slurping water off my shoulder. Just me and the hot water, alone together at last.

Heavenly.

Then, it being my birthday and all, I got to drag my wonderfully tolerant husband to a small arts and craft show nearby. I treated myself to a lovely magnet, which I intend to use to hold our library slip in hopes of not having so many overdue books. (And after having worked at a library myself for seven years - shameful, I tell you!)

After browsing for a while, we headed to 7-11 for our free slurpee in celebration of 83 years in business! I'm a big fan of 7-11 stores (what with sharing a "birthday" and all) and slurpees (my favourite being Coke mixed with cream soda), so it was pretty sweet.

The only low point in the day was the outcome of the 2010 FIFA World Cup Final - boo, Spain, you bunch of cheaters! Hup, Holland, hup!

Now I'm waiting in eager anticipation for (what smells like) the delicious supper my husband is cooking for me. Beef kabobs and coconut rice...mmm. Birthday cake will wait until tomorrow so that we can take it to our weekly Bible study with us. The man and the boy will be making my favourite - dirt cake! So much chocolatey goodness.

After supper I'll get the kiddos to bed and enjoy a nice evening with the husband. Since it's my birthday, I have to get to pick what we do. Right now I'm thinking we'll play our new favourite board game, Ticket to Ride, and watch a couple episodes of our new favourite series, How I Met Your Mother. Other than tidying up the supper dishes, I intend to enjoy the rest of my relaxing day - the housework can wait until tomorrow!

Wild and crazy no longer

The boy's birthday was lots of fun. Three. Three.

Someday I'm going to look back and think wow, three, he was hardly more than a baby back then.

Right now, though, I'm thinking wow, three, he's definitely not a baby anymore!

We spent a couple of hours at a local farm, his favourite place to visit, feeding the bunnies, admiring the horses, visiting the chickens, and petting the goats.

We had a wonderful evening of dinner (the birthday boy requested stir fry) and cake (this oh-my-goodness-I've-died-and-gone-to-heaven carrot cake with cream cheese icing), along with his friend and her parents.

But perhaps the main event (for his poor sentimental momma, at least!) was leaving the house like this:


...and returning like this:


His wild and crazy hair is gone.

No, he's definitely not a baby anymore.

Three

Today you turn three, my beautiful little boy.

So here are three (of the nearly countless) things I love about you:


Your Silliness

This will forever be a part of you in my mind. It was the first thing about you that surprised me - you were silly. Plain ol' goofy, right from the time you could sit up. You couldn't say a word, but humour - humour you understood. We've been laughing together nearly every day since.


Your Joyful Exuberance

Everything you undertake, you undertake with passion. Your days are filled with unrestrained enthusiasm. You hold nothing back. Your fiery spirit causes a yearning within my own - oh, that I could tackle life with the same no-holds-barred, heart-on-my-sleeve, all-out zeal that you do! You are overflowing with joy, and my life is so blessed to be touched by that.


Your Compassion

I pray that this never leaves you. Your compassion for others is awe-inspiring. You delight in giving to others, you are sensitive beyond your years to the feelings of others, and you have a great capacity for love. The way you care for your baby brother melts my heart about a hundred times each day - the gentle way you talk to him, the way you strive to comfort him when he is upset, the way you snuggle with him and stroke his cheek. I always smile at your oh-so-precious way of telling him that you love him: "How much I love you, Luke, home much I love you!"


How much I love you, my sweet boy. How much I love you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

My baby turned one yesterday.

He's practically all growed up.

We had a wonderful day. We started the day with the usual - books. Some mornings I don't even get so much as a good-morning smile, just a yawn and a stretch and a roll over to the bassinet to grab a book and start looking at it.



That's okay. I'm a big girl, I can handle it.

After a shower, Crazy Mommy got Baby all dressed up just so she could plop him down in front of the microwave and start snapping pictures. Exactly one year ago - to the minute! - my baby was born. (Okay, you can't tell, but the microwave says 11:03.)



He weighed 8 lbs 9 oz and was 20 inches long. Now he weighs 20 lbs 10 oz and is 31 inches long. He went from floppy little newborn to this...



...in practically no time at all.

After Crazy Mommy took pictures of Baby sitting in front of the microwave, we headed outside to enjoy the beautiful weather. Since it was his birthday, we decided to take his throne (okay, his stroller) for only the third time since he was born. We had a few things to pick up at the mall, including tape (to wrap his last present after we ran out last night), potatoes (for stew that evening), and an Anne Murray CD (to be included in my mom's Mother's Day gift parcel). We had such a nice walk and, for part of the way, a nice nap for the boy.

Then we came home, and Mommy grabbed the camera. Dun-dun-duh!









I totally made this 1. I has mad crafting skillz.


"Here Mom!"


"Okay, I'll keep it!"


My boy is just too cute.


And oh-so-serious.


We're done being serious now.




Eventually I decided that probably I had enough pictures. Time to get stew cooking in the crock pot and make a birthday cake! It was his nap time, so up on Mommy's back he went.



That took the rest of the afternoon. My little boy napped, then we played until Daddy got home. Present time!



Present opening is Very Serious Business.


The baby crayons were a big hit.


Here's Daddy "helping" the little man get a present out of a gift bag...


...and here's the little man diving out of the way before it fell on him.


Oh yes, and here's the little man in the bag.


Watching Daddy cut into a present from Great-Uncle.


Daddy specifically went out to buy this book for the little guy's birthday. I thought it was really sweet. It was one of his favourite books as a child so he wanted his son to have it too. Here he is telling Baby all about the awesomeness of the Pickle Truck.


Presents!






We got him a set of wooden blocks, baby crayons, a Kleen Kanteen sippy cup and several books. My parents got him a praying stuffed rabbit, three sets of books, and a Moody Bear cloth book. My in-laws got him a sweater (knitted by my MIL) and a few books. He got the plush balls from his Great-Uncle, the plush picnic basket from my sister, and a cheque from his Great-Oma.

Lots of new books!


"Mom. Seriously. It's time to cut my hair."


And then!! The birthday boy stood!! By himself!!

But stoopid Mommy was too busy squealing like a girl over the fact that her son stood up by himself to remember that hey, I've got a camera in my hands, maybe I should take a picture! By the time I managed to think that and get the camera up, this is all I caught:


Daddy was cheering for Baby and laughing at me. The boy was like "whatever guys. I got blocks."

Then it was cake time. Turns out I'd never make it as a cake decorator.


This was a carrot cake with a no-sugar cream cheese frosting. It tasted better than it looks.

I love this picture. It looks like Daddy's stressing out about his son reaching for candle. In reality, though, he was trying to show the boy how to blow out the candle. The boy wasn't paying any attention, as you can see.


He wasn't so sure about the cake.


In fact, he thought the candle looked more appetizing.


Eventually he gave in and tried some cake.


"Mom! Mom! Let me slime you with my gross hand!"


"Dude. That cake was gross. I totally dropped it on the floor."


Funny, he wouldn't stop pestering me for some of mine at lunch today! We shared a big piece. It's full of carrots and applesauce and apple juice (just pretend that's healthy) and raisins and wheat germ (I didn't even know what wheat germ was before now) and no sugar, so I didn't mind him eating it.

After cake it was time to settle down for the evening. Mommy looked terrible but wanted a picture with the Birthday Boy:


Daddy and I watched a movie (Juno!) while the birthday boy crawled around the bed and eventually went to sleep. And so ended my son's 1st birthday.

I loved being pregnant with him. I loved seeing him on the ultrasound, sucking his thumb and bouncing up and down. I loved feeling his kicks. I wasn't so fond of his incessant hiccoughs, but I loved watching my stomach move. I was convinced he was a boy before he was born, but I kept reminding myself that he could be a girl so often that when it turned out he really was a boy, I was almost surprised. I had a hard time at first feeling like the baby that had been inside me and the baby they handed me were one in the same, but wow, did I ever love him. I loved his first smiles at 3 weeks, his first time briefly sitting at 6 weeks, and his first laugh at 8 weeks. I was so excited the day he rolled over at 9 weeks. I loved watching him admire his hands at 12 weeks and I grinned myself silly after his first long belly laugh that same week. I startled him with my clapping when he figured out how to pull his hanging musical toy at 15 weeks. It was so neat to see him really learn to sit by himself at 19 weeks. We had so much fun at his first swim classes and storytimes, and less fun during his first cold and fever. When his first tooth came through at 23 weeks, I had no idea six more would come through over the next 10 weeks. He pushed up onto his hands and knees at 26 weeks and was crawling a month later. I grinned like a fool the first time he reached up for me at 29 weeks. At 35 weeks he could pull himself to standing and started cruising along the furniture. I loved watching him learn new things - waving bye-bye at 42 weeks, pointing to things and telling "stories" about them, opening drawers and cupboards at 43 weeks, turning lightswitches off with ease by 44 weeks, clapping at 47 weeks, briefly standing alone at 48 weeks, saying "uh-oh!" at 49 weeks, taking lids off and on at 51 weeks, and signing "milk", dropping the circle in the shape sorter and handing things to people when asked all by 52 weeks. It's been so much fun watching him learn and grow. I've learned so much myself since his birth.

Happy Birthday, Little Man.