Dear CJ,
This past Thursday you turned one year old. You are an excellent pointer, you love to point at things and sort of “Ehhhh” until we get them for you, so I thought I’d turn your pointing skills into a more entertaining gesture for your birthday party: I would teach you to hold up your finger and show everyone you were one. We worked on it for a week, and then, the day after the party, I held up my finger, said “One,” and you finally got it. You chose not to say the actual word, but seeing you figure out what I meant was pretty cool.
I know there will be a lot of pretty cool things for us in the future. You’ll master walking. You’ll learn to talk. You’ll listen when I say no (OK, maybe wishful thinking on my part) and you’ll continue to develop the awesome personality you have now. You are one of the coolest, most laid-back babies I know. You can put on a good show when you want something, but when you get it, you can immediately shut it down. And what’s wrong with that, really? If I wanted something I’d ask for it, I probably wouldn’t cry, but otherwise there’s not much difference between us.
While according to the 12-month questionnaire from the doctor we’re a little behind on your gross motor skills (I hold your hands to walk and you immediately bring your feet up so your legs are parallel to the ground—you’ve got some ab muscles, my friend), you’re communication is blossoming. It seems like for a while there, you had new words every day. We’ve got a few with concrete meanings now: “Doh” is ball, “Be-th-be-thb” is balloon, “Da-da” is Daddy, and “Ma-ma” is the sound you make when you’re crying some serious crocodile tears and you don’t know what else to do. Sometimes I can get a “Mom” out of you during bath time, but usually you reserve the use of my name for those special occasions when you know I’ll do absolutely anything to make you feel better.
As far as the rest of your development, you’ve been hitting your milestones right on track. You got your first tooth at seven months, and started to crawl not soon after. You’re a speed demon on your knees now, which is part of the reason I think you’re so hesitant to walk on your own. You will seriously be standing in front of the ottoman, holding on with one hand. You’ll throw your ball with the other, and then instead of walking over to it, will bend down and crawl to retrieve it. It’s like you know intuitively that you’ll get there faster on all fours, and you’re in no hurry to experiment with any other type of forward motion. That’s OK, though. You’ll get there.
Everyone always said I would hate it when you started to crawl, when you became mobile. But I love it, CJ. I love that you have this independence, this spark, this drive to get yourself where you want to go. I love that I can walk into the kitchen to put a dish in the dishwasher and you can follow me or not follow me, whatever you want. That simple choice alone has eliminated about 50% of your daily amount of crying. Now if only we could find a way for you to tell me you’re done eating that doesn’t involve you throwing your food on the floor.
You are the high point of my day, CJ, and getting to spend time with you is something I look forward to always, but especially on days I have to work. I recently started working full-time again, a decision that I didn’t make lightly. I hope that when you’re older you won’t resent me for doing so, that you’ll see the value in a mom who has worked hard for her education and thoughtfully chose to continue to pursue her career. If there were a way spending time with you could fulfill all my needs, I wouldn’t ever have a job, ever. But that just isn’t possible, and besides, I wouldn’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. I hope you can understand that, someday. And I hope that you can see that when I have the chance to do my own thing I come back to you refreshed and ready to throw myself into whatever adventures you and I get into, 110%.
I love you so much, CJ, and I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t believe that a year has passed already. Everyone said it would fly by, but truthfully, at times, it seemed to drag. I wondered if you would ever outgrow that newborn phase, that I’m-basically-just-a-ball-of-nerve-endings phase where you needed me every second of every minute of every hour of every day. That was hard for me, Bud. But just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, you smiled at me. The next day you took a two-hour morning nap and a three-hour nap in the afternoon. And it was like all the energy that had been sucked out of me over the last six weeks was back. I felt like I could handle things again. That I could handle you, period.
Now, I feel like so many of those difficult things are behind us. You have a predictable schedule, you’re sleeping through the night, and you’re eating real food (your faves right now are grilled cheese and yogurt). Yes, we’ll have some tough transitions ahead of us (right now I’m trying to get you to drink milk. Ha!) but I honestly believe what all those moms have been telling me—with each month that passes things with you get better and better. My diaper bag is the size of a pincushion, for goodness’ sake. What could be better than that?
CJ, you are a handsome, amazing, giggly, adorable, loveable little guy. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect son. This year has totally rocked my world, in the best possible way. Some days I look at you and wonder what I have done to deserve this. To deserve this time with you. When you look at me I can see the love in your big blue eyes. When you reach for me there’s an expression of such need on your face that it makes my heart melt. I feel inadequate at times. Like I don’t deserve to be a mother to someone who doesn’t judge, who doesn’t question, who loves me completely, wholly, and unconditionally. I will always be grateful for what you’ve taught me not only about being a mom, but also about being myself.
I love you, CJ, just the way you are. I can’t wait to see what the next year brings.
Love,
Mama
