My little cherub turned one twelve days ago. Yes, already: the big ONE. The closer we got to the date the more it stuck out in my mind, but i was living in denial, always able to push it deep down into the darkness of my brain. It was all very abstract, even when it was standing inches away from me, screaming into my face. I requested the day off weeks in advance and marked it on my calendar at work, but every time I stared at my scribbled BB IS ONE YEAR OLD!!! / OFF, there was always something more urgent to think about. I didn’t allow myself time to process the reality.
Suddenly it was the week of, and the more I thought about it the sadder I got. The realness worsened.
Despite some stressors with his kind of last minute, not half assed but definitely pin-worthy birthday party, everyone – but obviously most importantly BB – had fun. It didn’t matter that I had been sobbing two nights before (I was battling a sinus infection, had my period, and my baby was turning one) or that my cupcakes didn’t go over super well, or that the wind outside almost blew over our tent a few times. One was, and will continue to be, fun. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him from growing up, so I may as well try my best to buckle up and enjoy the ride…. it’s going to be a wild/fast one.