51 weeks

Since A was born, I have been getting the weekly emails from BabyCenter and The Bump all about “Your Baby This Week”. I stopped reading most of them when I stopped counting A’s age in weeks (roughly four months). Yesterday though, one came that caught my attention (and quite honestly brought me to tears):

How?

How?

I know A’s birthday is next week. I’ve been planning her 12 month photo shoot, drafting her (possibly) last monthly letter, and figuring out her birthday festivities. I’m aware of her birthday, certainly not in denial about it, so why did this particular happenstance cause me to get so schmoopy yesterday?

It’s probably because I’ve been super nostalgic lately (which is not really the best thing for someone as sensitive as me). The other night John and I were going through some old pictures and found ourselves looking at some from A’s first days home. It seems like just yesterday A was newly born. While I don’t necessarily miss those hazy, exhausting, endless days and nights, I do miss the snugly baby she used to be. I miss being able to hold her all day long, rock her, nurse her, take naps with her. I miss un-mobility and maternity leave, especially.

I can’t believe how much has changed in a year. I can’t believe the perpetually happy baby, almost toddler, I have now is the same fussy, colicky newborn I had many months ago. I can’t believe the baby that never slept now sleeps 12+ hours a night. I can’t believe the baby who never wanted to be put down now crawls everywhere and happily plays on her own.

But as I write all of this, A is sitting next to me, in her highchair, smiling her six-toothed smile at me as she babbles away, eating bananas and drinking milk. While I miss all of those things, I can’t say I’d trade the girl I have now to go back to them. She’s pretty stinking amazing, and I feel incredibly blessed to be her mama. It’s okay to feel nostalgic from time to time–natural, even, on the eve of a big event like a first birthday–but we shouldn’t let it get in the way of enjoying the here and now.

And I won’t. I’m going to savor this last week of babyhood.

And then I’ll eat cake.

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