Well, it wasn't quite the first year I imagined for you. You came right on time and at a whopping 9 pounds, 9 ounces, a mellow and peaceful guy who continues to amaze me with his belly laugh and his Zen vibe.
I'm afraid we haven't been so good at being Zen in return. There were the hospitalizations (Pink P and Daddy) and the surgeries (Mommy and Daddy) and the great back saga (I promise I will never again ask your dad to go on a Cub Scout camping trip--it was just one night. Sheesh!). And there was Mommy's dissertation defense (and the insanity leading up to it) and big-brother meltdowns. There's nothing Zen about a Sky-rific tantrum, so I'm sorry about those. And about all of the tests you had to go through when you started losing weight and running fevers.
It was kind of a crazy year, now that I think about it.
But, we made it! And now you're one and 26 pounds! You started rolling, scooting, pulling up and crawling all at once, and now you're cruising and ace with a sippy cup. I love how much you love your big sibs. I love your ingenuity and your positive attitude as you employ your stealth ninja skills to break out of the various enclosures we create to keep you safe. No whining for you! Just trial and error. Thanks for playing so gently with all that fragile stuff you could reach before we figured out you could reach it and after we figured it out but were too lazy to move it.
You've always been unexpected. The one who fills us with great joy. Our man of peace. The one who makes us whole.
Thanks for a great first year, even if the rest of us screwed it up a bit!