Happy birthday to my Beba, happy birthday to Addie Blue.
She's one year old today, what a fast year it has been. Passed so quickly. A year ago she was that pink baby, all cheeks; a little unknown, un-named being. Today she toddles arounds the house, her joyful voice muttering incesant incantations of
mem, mem, mumma,
and dada! dada! dada! most often.
A year ago me, my 55 cm fundus, two midwives and Paul were in the hospital. I laboured, they watched, and irritated me on occasion. I tried so hard. I meditated and walked and lived each second, each moment out and I laboured as I had all morning, all night, all afternoon the day before. After 23.5 hours of active labour; 4 or 5 hours of pushing interupted by an hour of a hazy epidural high; plenty of swearing; and my ideals and beliefs ignored in the name of safety, my 11 pound, and half of an ounce, baby girl was born screaming into a room full of gasping strangers under the bright spot light of hospital policy.
Hours later we three drove home; days later we named her; a year later I can't imagine life without this happy little baba.
She has a fluffy head of orange-brown hair, soft tufts reminiscent of a baby bird; blue eyes that twinkle and smile; she is round, and tall, and loveable. She loves cats and dogs and birds and paper, washing her hands, and digging in the dirt. She loves big sister Summer Lily most of all. She eats everything in sight and drinks water from a sippy cup with a straw. She knows no bounds, climbing up on anything much to my heart's fear. She finally goes in the bath without screaming (it has been a long year of sponge baths). She is brilliant. Generous with kisses, hugs and cuddles, she is easy to love.
Happy birthday my beba, your first of many happy days to come.