Photo Story Friday: In the Blink of an Eye

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek,

The guests have long since departed. The presents have been opened. The balloons are starting to make their way to the ground. It has been five days since you turned one. In the peaceful quiet of a Thursday evening I've finally found the words . . .

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I didn't know if I'd ever have you. You were a mystery to me and I had long since accepted that it might stay that way.


I'm watching you push you little car across the floor. You pick up a little plastic turtle (rescuing him from certain road kill status) and examine him in your tiny fingers, turning him around, placing him in your other hand. Every time you look at him it is as if you discover something new. I relish moments like this--the awe of new discoveries. You toss him aside. You are done with him. I love that, too. You clearly know what you want . . . and what you don't.

Hip baby fashion courtesy of The Rocking Pony!

You reach for the chair, stretching out your chubby little arms as you pull yourself up. Standing, you look over at me. "Are you watching me, mom?" you seem to say. I smile and wait to see if you will try it. You do. One step. Two step. Three step. Then you drop to the floor and crawl. To me.

After Cake

You put your hand on my knee and push yourself up as you grab my arms and then my shoulders. You push your face into my shoulder as you climb into my lap. "Mom, you're my woobie," you seem to say.

All clean! For now . . .

Mom.

I'm your mom. Amazing. Especially since I never thought I'd have you.


But here you are. A year later. My baby. My little man.


They told me this would happen. You would grow up. I knew it. I accepted it. But, I don't think I could ever prepare for it. Every week I see more evidence to support that you are indeed--growing up. The crawling, the walking, the talking, the intense curiosity, the looks (oh, how the lopsided grin, the crooked teeth peeking out and your dancing blue eyes amaze me).


Every day I drink you in. I watch you while you sleep. I examine your hands. I kiss your toes, savoring each and every giggle. I cherish your laugh. I hold your warm body next to mine.

You've been my son for one year.

I've been your mama for a lifetime.


I promise your mama won't be caught up in the mush fest forever. The reality of poopy diapers, all-nighters, the fact that you will one day be a teenager . . . it'll all come back to me.

But until then. I just want to tickle your toes. Pepper you with kisses. Hold you in my arms.


And never let my little man go . . . at least for now.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy J. Mama loves you.