Tomorrow you turn one. A whole year. 365 days I have known you. 365 days you have been in my life, changing me for the better, stretching me into a new person. 365 days I have loved you. 365 days I have been a mama.
I had a long, long list of fears before you were born. Deep fears: That I wasn't adequate enough to be a good mom for you, that I wouldn't know what to do, that I was somehow behind because I hadn't spent years planning your arrival. And shallow fears, too: That I wouldn't be able to have a life anymore, that we wouldn't get to do fun things anymore, that Chris and I wouldn't really love being parents.
Not a single one of those fears came true, deep or shallow.
You are the best, best thing in the whole world. Our daily walks and trips to the pool and park dates where you belly laugh when pushed in the swings are treasures I never knew I was hunting for.
You took your first steps on Wednesday...three shaky little steps before falling, and I caught you. You did it again, falling harder, and I caught you again. After a while, you realized you could be brave and keep trying and fall even harder because I was right there to catch you.
I know you can't understand everything just yet, but I hope you understand this: That you are loved beyond explanation, and that I will always, always be there to catch you.
Happy birthday, my little love. It will be the greatest privilege of my life to get to do this seventeen more times with you.