Ike's First Birthday

Dear sweet baby Ike, I can't believe it's been a whole year since your tiny baby body finally made a break for it. For nine (actually 10) long months, you slept and grew... and grew. And GREW. I was more than a little afraid I might be carrying a baby elephant.

But out you came -- just an average sized baby human. And of course you came at 3 am, because you really know how to make an entrance. As the nurses cooed over your eyelashes and wee baby face, I laid there dumbfounded.

Stage One of The Plan was over, and Stage Two was ready for implementation. Uh, what exactly did Stage Two entail again...?

Turns out stage two was a hallucinatory exercise in sleep deprivation. The first month was one long run on sentence of baby eatsleeppoop, oh -- and let's not forget a fumbling midnight trip to the emergency room on Day 5. Good times!

But you know what? I wouldn't trade that experience for all the sleep in the word. At the end of an epic, year long journey fraught with many twists and turns, I can tiredly but proudly proclaim that you are mine.

If I'm honest with myself, I know that you're only mine for a little while longer, because I am already beginning to understand the magical, mystical phenomenon that is parental time dilation: if there are two people and only one is a parent, at the end of 18 years the parent will have aged 100 years, but feel like only seconds have passed. Oh, and the non parent will still be young, carefree, and have good skin with no under eye bags, but that is a different story.

I know that someday soon -- sooner than I can possibly comprehend -- you'll be a grown man. Hopefully you won't live at our house anymore, and even though I might psycho dial you (just "checking in!") I'll be happy that you are an independent human, capable of living your own life.

Like any parent, I have my own dreams for your future, but I also recognize that it's your future, not mine. So I'll back off on the specifics, but could I maybe just mention that you seem to enjoy (torturing) cats. A lot. So, I'm thinking vet, perhaps?

Sorry. You know I couldn't help myself.

Ok, just be happy. And know that I love you and your little gigglesnorts more than these feeble words could express --