Dear baby,
I wasn't sure what I was going to write to you tonight, but then I read back through all of the monthly letters I had written you and I nearly cried...
You have just grown so much. You have grown and grown and grown, from a grizzling, grumbling, bleating little needy thing to my gorgeous, smiley, spirited girl.
You are my daughter. You are not a baby. But you are my baby.
We started the day off by bringing you in to our bed to open your presents. When I was a kid, we would always do presents first thing in the day, crowded around mum and dads bed in our pyjamas at some obscene hour. Daddy's family does presents at the end of the day, after dinner and cake. I think I'm going to push for my way - I couldn't imagine a better way to start the day!
You got some alphablocks, a book and a trike from us. You got a tutu, a hat and some gloves from one of the special mums in our mothers group. You got a bath toy that blows bubbles and lights up and sings and pretty does everything imaginable from one of daddy's aunties.
You ate all your breakfast (and some of mine), then you played in the loungeroom while daddy assembled your bike, then he took you for a spin through the kitchen. You went down for a nap, and when you woke up 45 minutes later the house was full of people and you cried. You cried on and off for 10 minutes until daddy took you back to our room to chill a little and just regroup, and then when you returned you were back to your superstar self.
You were passed along, you ate party foods, you wore an adorable outfit and headband, and you played with your mothers group friends in the loungeroom. You watched us blow out the candle on your cake (that caused me no end of heartache when it was crumbling everywhere and not wanting to be iced at 11:30 last night) and you watched the older kids beat up the pinata (which scared you a little). You were meant to have a nap after your party, but we think you sat quietly in your bed for half an hour because when you were eating dinner later tonight, you kept resting your head down on the tray - we've never seen that before!
You opened a few presents with me, then gave up and let me do the rest as you clung to daddy. You ate all your dinner (cheese stick, peas, corn, capsicum, a piece of bread with egg in the middle, a fruit cup and a yoghurt), then daddy gave you a bath. I read your book that we bought you (twice!) and then you went to bed - you were unsettled, but daddy went in and hugged you to sleep.
There's so much to say, and I don't know where to start or how to say it.
You're adorable. You're happy and cheery, even when you're grumpy. You're cheeky as you pull all the DVD's out of the shelf, as you feed your dinner to the dogs, as you pull your socks and shoes and bibs and hats off. You laugh when we laugh, you cough for sympathy, you crinkle your face up after you sneeze.
You're cuddly, but you're also independent. You're brave, but you're also cautious for little things - you don't like balloons, or the dinosaur ball popper, or AFL footballs. You love to have your hair brushed, and we saw you scratching your own head with a wii remote this evening.
You clap in a fun way, and now in the proper way. You blow back when we blow softly over your face. You whistle. You imitate the noises I make to you. You stick out your tongue when I do the same if I find a poopy nappy. You crawl with intent. You love to hold fingers and walk and walk and walk, and you know to pause next to the couch in the family room so that I can open the sliding door so we can continue on our way. You come down the hall with me to make the bed each morning, and you sit in front of the mirror taking my bangles out of a shoebox and then putting them back in.
You've changed me as a person. You have taught me I am more patient than I ever thought I would be. That I have the ability to overcome the pain of childbirth, the tiredness of helping you learn to live, and the stress of all of the 'what if's'. I fed you for almost a year, and it went so much better than I had thought. My hips and butt have changed in structure, my knees are terrible and my stomach is nothing like it used to be (or anywhere near what it could have been), all because of you. But I wouldn't trade it back for the world.
I walked down the hallway after you this morning, and watched from the doorway as you crawled over to one of the stools in the kitchen. I leant my head against the wall and watched you and realised how cheesy I felt to be doing something out of a terrible movie. But then the gravity of the fact that you are growing really hit me. And then you turned and saw me. And you smiled as you realised I was watching. Then you waved, got down to your knees and just kept on moving.
You've made me, in the same way I made you.
Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. I can't wait to see what this next year brings.
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