Happy Birthday, Peanut!

One year ago, at this very time, my midwife was in my home, confirming that I was in labour, that yes, my membranes had certainly ruptured, and I was most certainly having our baby that very day.

One year.

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How can it be, my darling girl, that it has been a year? Wasn’t I carrying you within me, next to my beating heart, only last week? Didn’t I only breathe you into this world on a wave of compulsion and agony and ecstasy only yesterday? Did my ears not just ring at the sound of your first cry, before you were even fully born, only moments ago?

I remember so clearly holding you to me, as you first nursed, and you wrapped your tiny, hour-old arm around my side, gently brushing my skin with your tiny fingers,discovering your new world, your new mother, this new love. I will cherish and remember that moment, that sensation, for the rest of my life. So tender and precious, so new and foreign. So mine.

Twelve months of growing and trial and wonder and learning and amazement as you’ve grown to be your very own little person. You have thoughts, likes and dislikes, you play games and have a sense of humour, and are one of the sunniest, most darling children I have ever met.

There are days when I wish I could stop the passage of time so that I can just keep you as you are today, so small and cuddly and full of discovery and others when I wish I could go back to when you were so tiny, when things were so difficult, and appreciate you even more, hug you even closer, and know with surety that everything would turn out well.

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You are astonishing, dear child, and as great a gift as any could be.

Happy birthday.

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