I'm not one of those women who makes her own babyfood (lucky for you) or knits your clothes out of dryer lint. I haven't taught you how to read yet or solve quadratic equations. There are days when we don't leave the apartment (the very tiny apartment). Sometimes I get frustrated with you. I enjoy having moments of alone time. I probably have the t.v. on too much. I worry if I'm stimulating your brain enough. Am I giving you the right foods? Should I be reading you Tolstoy or Faulkner? All this and with a defective instinct mechanism. There is so much I'm unsure of. Except...
Except that I love you. I love you the best I know how. I love you so much that it sometimes brings me to tears. I would throw myself in front of moving traffic for you (standstill traffic would be preferable, but I would do moving). You have taught me a lot about love and selflessness; you have taught me about forgiveness. I feel like you've provided me with a small glimpse into the heart of God. I know the love I have for you is minuscule compared to God's love, but it's an amazing feeling. I don't know if this is enough. Maybe you'll tell your future therapist that your crippling anxiety issues stem from your mother's incessant singing or her insane knowledge of Full House trivia. "Yes, but did she love you?" she'll ask. I hope you can give a resounding yes.
I'm anticipating that the next 17 years are going to fly by based on the warp-speed nature of this first year. I just want to slow time down (sometimes reverse it...I would be so much better at getting you to sleep in your crib the second time around). Each night that I get to rock with you (not the Michael Jackson song), I think about where God is going to lead you. What are his plans for you? And there is this bossy voice in my head that starts telling God what to do. I mean I can't even figure out my camera, and I'm bossing the creator of the universe? And there's the teachable moment. You are going to grow up. You will fall down (both figuratively and literally), and all I can do is make sure you know that you are not alone (wow with the Michael Jackson references). I know what I am writing is somewhat repetitious of previous posts to you, but I don't want you to ever doubt my (or your dad's) love for you. My prayer for you, sweet boy, is that you grow up to be a virtuous, loving man (you have an incredible role model in your father). It's my hope that you pursue a life that is centered around God's will. I know that you are going to make mistakes, you're going to have bad days, you may even wear socks with sandals (gasp). It's okay. One time I wedged your grandparents' van in between two trees. We all do dumb stuff. But I hope you learn from these mistakes and push forward to be the best person you can be.
All photos by Sara LukeSo..kind of deep for a first birthday. Sorry. You will discover that I'm not the most mellow of people. Again, sorry. I hope that year two is as great as year one. You've set the bar pretty high. I mean you already laugh when either your dad or I flatulate (fancy pants way of saying toot). How much more awesome could it get?
(this is a very basic 'video' or photo journey of your first year. not sure if it will work, because I'm somewhat computer illiterate)