A birthday letter to Elle

Dearest Ellie Bean,

Happy birthday! You're the most perfect person I know.

Love,
Mama

OK, OK ... I'll go in to more detail :)

Dear sweet baby girl,

It hit me hard when I took your 11-month photos with the blocks. I knew I'd take a 12-month photo, but really, that's ONE YEAR. You were officially one month shy of being a year old. And with the way weeks fly by around here, that would be here in no time.

And it is.

This last year has gone by so fast. I've learned so much - about myself, about your dad, about you. And yet I feel like we're just scratching the surface.

A year ago at this time, I had been experiencing signs of labor and contractions for almost 12 hours ... and almost exactly 24 hours after things all started, you were placed on my chest, and I knew you. Instantly.

It was all worth it: Pregnancy, labor, the ups and downs of parenting. The nausea. The foot swelling. The constant need to pee. The contractions that kept me up all night. The pain and discomfort I felt in the hospital as I discovered labor was progressing, and progressing fast. The frustration of knowing how close you were but lacking the skills/focus/energy to push properly. The pain after delivery. The frustration of the first few weeks of parenting. The stress. The anxiety. The fatigue. (Hey, I'm your mom, I'm not going to sugar coat this.) The extra work it takes to prepare both of us to go somewhere. The extra costs. The juggling of schedules and childcare.

But again, it has ALL been worth it.

The moment you arrived in this world, everything changed, although in the flurry of everything going on at the time, I didn't realize exactly how much. We had almost nine months to prepare, and yet I don't feel like I was prepared at all. You were ours, and we were yours, and we were a complete little family.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I looked at you for the first time - and yet, in the last 12 months we've learned that you're just as sweet as you are stubborn. Just as independent as you are cuddly. Just as dramatic as you are comedic.

I love the little person you've morphed in to over the last year.

I love all of the expressions you make while nursing. How you adore an audience and perform accordingly, but also can act shy and coy in front of strangers. How you will accept any sized piece of food I give you and shove it in your mouth without tearing or chewing it in to a smaller piece (really, you could take smaller bites, silly bean).

I absolutely cannot believe how much you're grown and changed since you were born. You've put on a good 13 pounds and gotten at least nine inches taller.

Your personality shines through with every word, noise and gesture. Your laugh fills my entire heart. You feed yourself like a pro. You're a total ham for the camera.

You get around like you've been sitting, crawling and pulling up all your life. You are simultaneously amazingly independent and dependent - a combination that I am absolutely loving. I love to watch you figure things out, I am ecstatic that you love being read to and "reading" your books, and I absolutely adore the little curves of your cheeks and chins, as well as the rolls around your arms and thighs.

We've definitely had our fights and our individual struggles over the last year (and I'm sure they won't be the last!). I am not the most patient person (especially when I don't get enough sleep), and I like to understand everything about everything. By nature, you're a mystery, and I am often frustrated that I can't figure you out. I try to instead enjoy the journey and celebrate the small puzzles that I have solved - but I'm sure you'll continue to throw curve balls at me just to keep me on my toes. Regardless, I hope you know that I'll always be there for you, even when you don't want me or think you don't need me.

We know we are lucky - you're a "good" baby, we're told. You sleep well. You hardly fuss. You haven't been sick. You're a good eater. You're smiley. You're cute. Babies like you make it easy to imagine having another kid (although we fully expect that all of our good baby karma has been used up and any future children will make up for your temperament). But you are without a doubt one of a kind, and I am so happy to call you my daughter and look forward to learning even more about you in the years to come.

Everyone says "Enjoy it. It goes so fast." But it is going faster than I ever could have imagined. And keeps speeding up. For as emotional as I can be (your mom is a bit of a spaz, dear one), and for as nostalgic and reminiscent of the last year that I am (and always will be), I am so grateful for every day, smile, tear, milestone, cuddle, laugh and moment that got us to today. You are everything I ever dreamed of and a thousand times more.

Thank you also for not pooping in the tub or the pool.

Tomorrow, you and Daddy and I will spend the day together, just like we did 365 days ago. You'll eat better food. (So will I, although our hospital food wasn't as awful as I feared.) We'll get more rest. We'll laugh and cry, just like we did last year. We'll open your cards and presents. At 11:28 a.m., I'll look at the clock, undoubtedly comment to your dad about it and probably be overwhelmed with emotion. This will likely happen the last day of July for the rest of my life. 

Happy first birthday, Elle Belle. I love you - forever and always.

Mama