Monday 3 September 2012

Two firsts

It's his birthday. Three hundred and sixty five days have passed since his birth. A whole year since the first time I held my breath for some unknown amount of time and waited for him to cry. Since my white, drained of blood, hand squeezed my wife's and we sat there unable to move or talk or cry or scream. Was it really a year ago that I heard his voice, his angry and scared cry, for the very first time? Time must be playing a trick on me. Wasn't it just yesterday that I thought I would be pregnant forever?


I'm trying to pull myself together. But I'm overdue for a haircut and it's enough to cause a meltdown. My poor precious baby has to celebrate his birthday with a Mama who is practically sporting a mullet. That's the problem with short hair. You can go from normal hair one day to suddenly being weeks over-grown the next. I resolve from now on I will always book a haircut a month in advance. But I know I'm a big fat liar.



Friends are coming. Pull it together Kristin. It's been a year and this baby weight is still here. I try to soothe myself. This belly grew your boy. These giant, floppy, breasts have fed him. Women put too much pressure on themselves. Healthy is the new skinny. But, ugh, maybe I should just buy a moo-moo and be done with it.


Just keep smiling. Just keep smiling. It's almost over. Think of all the good left to come. Remember when he danced? Soon he will walk. And talk. So much good. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. 

The day ends with cake and kisses. Baby is happy. And sugar-highed. 


In the days that follow I become determined that he will take his first steps. I hold his hands and walk with him relentlessly. Come on baby. Don't you want that TV remote over there? You can have it. Just walk. My iPhone? Sure you can have that too. Just walk to it. He resists like only a baby can. I will not walk Mama. Look at how fast I can crawl!

Weeks pass and he starts to come around to two-footed travel. He squeals with delight as I hold his hands and walk with him. He's close, oh so close, to walking on his own. It hits me that we will be visiting his Dad in a matter of days. Wouldn't he love to see his first steps? 

Now I'm distracting him. No, you don't want to walk baby. Look at this truck. Vroom. Vroom. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see? 

We are visiting with Andy's cousins. Hugs and kisses all around. He's so close to walking I tell them. I think he will take his first steps this weekend. Andy smiles. His excitement is infectious. 




First birthdays are hard. But first steps are bad ass.




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