A recent post by one of our favorite bloggers, Mary Teague, the mom behind A Momma Grows in Brooklyn.
Yesterday was Baby’s first birthday, and it was a long day. 
At 8:00 a.m., Baby was standing on the changing table (yes, standing), naked as the day he was born (ha!), and refusing to slow down for a clean diaper or any day time clothes.
At 8:01 a.m., Baby peed. Still standing, still naked.
By 8:20 a.m., Baby was dressed in a very cute birthday outfit (thanks to my grandmother for the awesome striped onesie… Baby looked like an adorable baby bumblebee, which completely made up for my pee-soaked shirt).
By 10:30 a.m., I was leading a conference call. Perhaps “leading” is too strong… I was trudging through the mud of the call and waving my arms frantically at the other participants as if to say, “Over here, guys! Oh hey… I’m over here!!”
Then it was 6 p.m., and I was in my office crying because I did not think I was going to make it out in time to see Baby before he went to sleep. About fifteen minutes later, I had the following internal monologue: Even if I left now, I would only get to see Baby for his sleepiest five minutes, and he will not care one way or another if he sees me for those five minutes. What am I thinking?
Isn’t that how the distance grows between a baby and his Momma In Training? And this isn’t any old Wednesday night. This is Baby’s first birthday. And that is a big deal. Baby may not know it is his birthday, but I certainly do, so why am I here? Is there a brief due tonight? Is there a client emergency? Is someone threatening my job if I don’t stay? No. No. And, no. Someone called me at 6 p.m. with two questions and said that she wanted the answers tonight. This is ridiculous. I am going to take my work with me, get in a cab, and go home right now. I will work in the car, and I will work at home after I see Baby. My answer can be delayed by fifteen minutes, which is probably the only time I am going to get before he goes to sleep anyway.
And I did.
I got home in time to find Baby standing in the bath. (Yes, standing. That is his current modus operandi.) All ten minutes of my time with him before bed were wonderful and worth it.
So that was the long day. The year, on the other hand, has gone way too fast.
He was born. He only slept on our chests or snuggled in right next to us. He spent all day every day with me. He found his hands and feet. He smiled. He swiped and batted at things. He kicked and kicked and kicked. He put his hands in his mouth–constantly. He laughed. He put his feet in his mouth–constantly. He took two naps a day–sometimes three. He rolled. He only took naps in his swing. He sat up. He babbled. He spent five days a week with Nanny. He ate solid food. He spent four days a week for a few weeks at DayCare. He took naps and slept through the night in his crib. He spent four days a week with Nanny. He got some teeth. He waved. He clapped. He brushed his teeth. He crawled. He said “mama.” He said “dada” and “dadadadada.” He went in the swing at the playground. He opened and shut doors. He played peek-a-boo. He pulled himself to standing. He stopped taking his morning nap. He called everything “da.” He cruised. He pushed his stroller. He had no time for snuggling except in the mornings and night with delicious almond milk. He nodded his head yes, eyebrows raised, with a sneaky smile. He pointed at everything. He got even more teeth. He reached out to me with both arms.
I love you, little bug. Happy Birthday.
Mary Jacobsen Teague is an attorney by day (and night…and, begrudgingly, by weekend) and writes about the occasional triumphs, many pitfalls, and the hijinx and hilarity of motherhood. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and son.
