It’s the morning of your first birthday and as I sit here typing you’re asleep on my lap. I wonder…of the 8,760 hours that made up your first year of life, how many of them were spent like this? Quite possibly half. I didn’t think to count.
It’s overwhelming at times. You love nothing more than being held and I’m your number one pick. We tried setting sleep schedules and being consistent, but your first year was filled with so many journeys…Orlando in April, Michigan in June, July, August, October, and December and Georgia in November. Even today on your first birthday we fly our last scheduled flight, moving home to Michigan from Florida. Each journey brought us further away from those norms until we finally just leaned into it. There wasn’t any point in trying to set parameters when they were disrupted every three or four weeks.
We do what we must to get rest.
You’re my lap baby. My Tula tyke. My last baby, unless God really surprises us. From the start of your life you’ve been a peace bringer. When you sleep in my arms I’m forced to slow down. To breathe. To sit in a dimly lit room and be with you. How much longer will I be able to cradle you like a baby? When will you get too big? How many more hours do we have left this way, before you outgrow my lap entirely?
Your dad and I endeavor to enjoy every season we have with you and your brother. The future holds such wonderful discoveries as we learn what interests you, where your passions lie, what your sense of humor is like. So while I look forward to every new season and attempt to appreciate each season as it happens, allow me one moment to snuggle you closely and remember what your year as a baby was like. Don’t mind those drops falling on your fuzzy head…I’m just mommy-crying over here.
I am forever grateful God chose me to be your mama. I love you, sweet Solly Bear.
girl in process 