I've been feeling sentimental all week, but especially today, as I've looked back at photographs of me when I was huge and Henry when he wasn't. The last year has been a highlight in my life, marked with streaks of brightest blue and sunshine yellow across the pages of my story. Henry's sweetness and happiness have been so influential already, I can hardly remember my life before him.
I'll never forget the moment I first saw the fuzzy little blip on the screen during Little Brute's first ultrasound. I was startled to hear his heart beating so quickly and steadily already. How could I love that thing, that blob on the screen? It was easier to understand when, several months later, that blip had turned into 7 pounds 3.3 ounces of screaming Henry. The love I saw in Derek's eyes as he looked down at his son matched the swelling I felt in my already racing heart and I knew we were in agreement: we were in love.
Over the last year, Little Brute has been from one end of the world to another, taking our hearts and our joys with him. I'll never forget the first time Henry laughed--a real laugh--in our Wymount Apartment. He inched along the carpet at Nana and Papa's house, his first "movement" across the room. He bounced his way through Disneyland and then down to Texas, making my arms tired with the effort of keeping him upright. He snuggled with me across the continent and then the Atlantic Ocean, to crawl, cruise, and take his first steps in a land far from his birthplace in Utah Valley.
I'm pleased to say I've done my best not to take anything for granted. I cried the last night I held Henry to my breast and gave him a midnight snack, but I knew that I had enjoyed every minute of nursing him. As a champion whiner, I felt elated to know that I hadn't complained about getting up with baby every few hours at night. No, I had cherished those moments. The way his hand reached up and played with my hair while he ate, or the funny look he got on his face as soon as he latched on.
I've relished his squeaky laugh as he shoots from one end of the room to the other and the way he talks to his teddy bear before he falls asleep. I've sat and watched him turn the pages of his books and laughed out loud as he flings himself onto the floor, burying his face in the blanket he adores.
I won't lie and say every moment has been blissful--who wants to change poopey diapers in the morning, or clean up 35 peas from the kitchen floor (again!), or not be able to use the toilet without a buddy?
But I love that Little Brute, with all my heart. That Little Brute that jumped for joy in my womb when he heard his Daddy's voice, and now waves his arms and squeals "Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad.". That Little Brute that once laid stationary on his flannel blankets and now races from one end of the house to the other, his hands slapping against the linoleum. I love that sweet boy with eyes like his Daddy, lips like his Daddy, smart like his Daddy, loving like his Daddy.
As I put him in his bed tonight, I thought about who he is and who he will become. He is a Child of God. He is an incredibly strong spirit sent to the earth in the latter days. He is bright. He is happy. He is funny. He is handsome. He is sweet. I never thought I would look forward to getting out of bed as much as I do, eager to poke my head around the corner and be met with his grin and his arms reaching up for me.
Happy Birthday, Little Brute. You are one year older, and much wiser, too.
Happy Birthday, to you.
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