One year ago today, I took this picture.
And then a few hours after that, I took this one.
And probably a few hundred others, just like it.
It's difficult to write about the day you were born without lapsing into lazy clichés. One of the best days of my life, one I'll never forget, like no other experience in the world, a day full of joy and love and endless promise and tinged with mystery. Who are you, little boy? What will you be like? How are you different? How are you the same?
Everything stood still on the day you were born. We stayed locked together, even after you were so abruptly pulled from your cozy womby home, because I could not get enough of holding you, smelling you, kissing you. When others handed you back to me we'd both emit the same satisfied sigh as you settled back into my arms. Yes. That's better. That's right.
At some point the fast-forward button gets hit, and the days and weeks and months hurtle by. Milestone after milestone, pound after chubby delicious satisfying pound. You're smiling, cooing, rolling, babbling, laughing, scooting, sitting, eating, crawling, standing, cruising. Doing everything a baby is supposed to do, when a baby is supposed to do it, yet it all still feels new and novel and unique because it's you.
Who are you, little boy?
You are our bright-eyed...
Ball of quiet mischief...
Who has everybody you know completely wrapped around your fingers and toes and swirly baby curls.
You're Baby Ike, that's who, and you're amazing.
Happy birthday, Ikey.
Music: Perpetuum Mobile by Penguin Cafe Orchestra