The big day

  The big day is almost upon us!  At 2:01 this morning, Rachel and I will clink wine glasses in commemoration of that moment when her water broke...
  Hopefully, we'll both be asleep at that hour.  Caleb, too.  He's not been the happiest of babies this evening.  I think he's getting all his fussing out so that he's ready to be happy for tomorrow night at church.  That, or he's upset that the shower leak is fixed, thereby damaging the chances of us turning the basement into a pool for him to use when he's older.  (at least until something else starts leaking)

  Everyone keeps telling me they can't believe it's been a year already.  My reaction is always the same--it feels like it's been a year.  I don't think the year has flown by.  I don't think it's dragged on.  It's been the best year of my life--it's been wondrous, amazing, eye-opening, exhausting, stressful, joyous, difficult, transformative--all that I thought it would be and so much more.  The best moment of my day is still the time when I go in to wake him up (although I don't wake him up anymore... he's always awake, sitting up, ready to greet me with a smile--or a cry to demand breakfast), although the moment when I pick him up from daycare and he smiles at the sight of me is pretty great, too.  Actually, any time when Caleb looks at me, recognizes me and smiles is the greatest moment ever.  It's been an awesome year--I've tried to slow down and enjoy it, to sit on the floor and play with him, to wonder at the miracle of life, to be amazed as he grows--and as a result, it hasn't flown by.  I've savored each and every laugh, enjoyed watching him play with his grandparents and aunt, savored watching him grow and learn how to interact with people and toys, laughed as he lunged after the nearby cat.  This year has been one miracle after another, and I wouldn't want to give up a single day.  (Well, some of those moments where he was throwing up I could sacrifice if you twisted my arm.)

  He'll be a year old, and he no longer looks like an infant.  He looks like a toddler, like a little boy, ready to discover the world, to crawl and to run, to laugh and to play, to skin his knees and curl up in mom's arms.  He's growing up, and it's wonderful.  I loved him as an infant, when he fell asleep in my lap and all was right with the world, and I love him now, when he won't sit still and crawls away then turns to make sure I'm still watching, his face filled with delight.  Each day that passes I'll never get back, but I'm grateful for the gift--I don't need it back, because it's tucked away in my heart.  Tomorrow is a new day, filled with wonders to discover, with cries to be soothed and laughter to be enjoyed.  With tomorrow, there is growth and hope and joy, but each day leaves behind a treasured memory, a place to mark what once was and never shall be again.  But that's ok--because a world, a life, awaits, and I am so grateful to get to make that journey with this fascinating little boy, this little miracle of God's creation, who thinks Rachel and I are just wonderful.  God has given us a year of miracles, and it feels right.

  I don't know what's in store next, but I pray that it is even more wonderful than this, that my joy might overflow.  May the second year be even more delightful than the first, and may this little boy grow as a child of God, knowing that he is loved always and forever by those that have the pleasure of sharing this adventure with him.  Every day is filled with something new, and the gift of discovering the old as miraculous is the gift he gives us--he makes the world new again, and a part of me is made new again, as my eyes open wide in wonder to the gift of Caleb.  I shall love him no matter what, for he is a treasure, one year old, with many adventures still to come.