July 18, 2008: Universe Interupted...a son is born.

Dear Milo,

It's your first birthday. One year. Let's have a moment.

Here are a few of my favorite things:
My absolute favorite milestone was when I could fit back into a pair of size 6 jeans.
(I joke! Not about the size 6, but about it being my favorite milestone!)
Thank you Milo for not reaking crazy, irreversable havoc on my body. No stretch marks, no extra skin, no short haircuts. Also, thank you for arriving a month early. I got to miss out on those final weeks of increasing uncomfortability, irritability, and obscene weight gain. This probably saved your father and I from divorce. It definitely saved our dishware. I'd also like to thank you for the mere 7 hours of labor and 20 minutes of pushing. We have successfully pissed off all those first time mothers who were overdue and in labor for over 24 hours. High Five!

Your crib

Your father and I ventured out one evening to buy the Crib. After extensive and thought-provoking conversations (like any neurotic 1st time mom overanalyzing every baby product) we settled for a lovely 4 in 1 Jardine Convertible Crib. Cherry.

Of course, it did not fit into the car. The car we bought when I was 5 months pregnant. For you. Baby wanted leather interior, Bluetooth, Bose speakers and Navigation. All for you.

Anyhoo, we took each peice of the crib out of the box and carefully placed them in the car. All except the headboard peice. No matter which way we angled it, the damn thing refused to fit! So we put it on the roof, and since we did not have any bungee cords or rope, your father held onto the bars through the sunroof. All 30 miles back home. His hand was uncommonly numb upon arrival. I was so damn nervous that the peice would fly off and hit another car that I drove 30 mph with my flashers on. My fellow road warriors loved this, seeing as how the speed limit was 55 mph. I thought for sure my stress hormones were going to affect you into premature delivery. Or a cleft palate.

Which brings me to this: the crib, after all that, is now being recalled. I'll be adding that to the list of "shit I will probably never get to." We bought this crib in the hopes of it lasting for years and years...at least through your PhD graduation.

At least.

However, the bite marks, scratches, and now with the recall, I'm thinking the crib was a giant waste of money. Your future little bro or sis will suffer for this by sleeping in an el cheapo cribo.

Apathy

I've had to bid farewell to it. You've taught me that apathy has no room in parenthood. I can't just leave my razor on the shower floor. I have to put down the hot coffee or glass of wine before I pick you up. I can't let the floor pile up with knives. Can't do it.

Very few things "easy" about parenthood. It's trial by fire. One stage gets resolved, just to be replaced by an even more complicated phenomenon. Let's get real. The people who say "It'll get easier" are just trying to get you to shut up. So put your pants back on and lets get on with it.

I now understand why my mother, your grandmother, would be so excited on my birthday, my school graduations, and on my wedding day. She would make sure she got a picture of her wearing my birthday hat, my graduation cap, and even my wedding veil. My mother was celebrating too. My milestones were her milestones. I get this now. She wasn't trying to steal my thunder or embarrass me. I think.

So far I have witnessed everyone of your milestones (smiling, rolling over, sitting, standing, walking, pooping outside the diaper)...and you can count on me wearing your tux on your wedding day.

I joke.

Maybe.

One day you will look at this blog and my hope is that you will see your childhood as a time filled with laughter, adventure, and love. You have changed the course of my life, filling it with pure unconditional devotion and light.

You will never know all the pleasure I receive in your smile. Happy 1st Birthday, son...

love,

mama