To My Sweet Baby Girl,
Well, I guess I can’t really call you a baby anymore. In less than a week, you’ll be a year old. This time last year, I was extremely pregnant and running after your crazy big sisters. Now, since you’ve mastered crawling at supersonic speed, I’m chasing you, too.
While we’re talking about your agility, I’m hoping you quickly grow out of this current phase of always wanting to play in the dog’s water bowl. Although, I must admit it is cuter than cute when you flash a mischievous grin as you make a beeline for it when I tell you, “No”.
I can’t believe we’ve made it a whole year.
I can still remember sobbing as the nurse told me you had to stay in the NICU because of an air pocket in your lung. I remember sitting alone in my hospital room, missing you, on your second day of life; then, later that day, the joy I felt when we were reunited.
I remember the first time you met your big sisters and taking our first family photo. I remember our first drive together, when I realized that Highway 459 seriously needs to be re-paved to make for smoother rides for brand-new babies.
I remember those first sleepless nights, when we rocked together in the dark.
I remember my maternity leave, when we cuddled and binge-watched Netflix for hours on end.
But what really gets me? There are things I don’t remember. Because let’s face it, taking care of a newborn while also raising a two year old and four year old and working full-time is . . . chaotic.
I don’t remember the first time you smiled at me.
I don’t remember the first time I successfully piled you and your sisters into the minivan, something I was terrified to do all through my pregnancy.
I can’t put my finger on when you first laughed, or talked (although I’m insisting your first word was “Mama” since both of your sisters definitely said “Dada” first).
Perhaps I’ve been distracted during your first year, my love, but not because I care any less about you. It’s because I’ve had to learn how to divide my attention into three parts. And I’m sorry, I’ve definitely failed at times.
I’m sorry for having to put you in your crib while you cried so I could give the other two a bath.
I’m sorry for not documenting your first year of life each month with numbered stickers like I did for your sisters. I think I made it to Month 6.
And, on that note, I’m so sorry I haven’t made your baby book. Don’t feel too badly about that, though; I’m pretty sure I forgot to do that with your middle sister, too.
I’m sorry I haven’t ventured out with you very much, since taking three kids anywhere alone is scary. In fact, I realized last week when we went to Publix that we had never been to the grocery store together, just the two of us.
But most of all, I’m sorry I let this year go by SO QUICKLY, wrapped up in the blur, without fully appreciating your littleness. I was so focused on just getting by and surviving each day that I forgot to savor every second of your baby stage.
Despite all that I remember and all that I’ve forgotten, I know this: you have the ability to change my world with a single smile. This year has been a struggle, sure. But even on the worst days, your sweet face changes everything and you manage to be my source of calm.
Thank you, my darling, for completing our little family. We adore you.
And I promise, I’ll get to that baby book one day.
Love,
Your Mama
