He’ll be 1 in 16 days. Amazing.
The night before Lily turned one I was a wreck, tears and all. I’d become so acutely aware that time was flying that I probably could have given myself a panic attack. I had this feeling that time was slipping right between my fingers, and I made a promise that I’d take things slower and live the moments. I think one of the best things you can do as a parent is learn and then apply what you’ve learned, and because I do my best to live that way, this past year doesn’t seem like it flew by as much. Sure, I can close my eyes and go back to the exact moment I pulled him up onto my chest, but I tried not to allow time to get the best of me again.
I savored him. I smelled him. I memorized every inch of him. I took pictures of his fingernails and his toes, and I made sure to watch the rise and fall of his chest as many times as possible. I took a million picture and videos. I held him all the time. I never tried to force myself to put him away in a crib. I fed him, and when he was full, I watched him roll around on the bed, fat and happy. I got on my hands and knees and crawled with him. I kissed him more than I’ve ever kissed anyone, and I breathed him in like he was oxygen. I did not, for one second, spend time thinking about how the world thought I should be raising my baby. I did it my way.
And it has been the best year yet.