o n e .

It was 2:52pm on January 23, 2023 as I began writing this post.

One year ago, I was walking around the delivery room at the IWK. My laptop was open on the table next to the bed and between contractions and walking breaks, I would write 50-100 words of an article to distract myself. How fitting that I’m writing now.

I finished the post hours later, after putting my freshly minted one-year-old to bed. Verklempt and, frankly, exhausted from our day.

S —

You came into this world with the energy you carry today: sweet and bubbling. Almost a month early but absolutely perfect, I will never forget the moment the doctor handed you up to me and I felt the weight of your tiny body in my arms. It will always be one of the most special memories I hold near. Always.

Your first birthday came almost as quickly as you, it seems. Sometimes I think I blinked and missed it all as you turned from that tiny newborn to a bright and capable toddler. Just this morning, I watched you as you contemplated taking a step… perhaps you’re waiting until Daddy comes home to see you. I can sense your confidence growing each time you test your ability to stand, unassisted, for an extra second longer. Hold onto that feeling – the one you feel when you’re proud of you. And if you ever forget, I’ll remind you just how amazing you are.

I love your easy nature and how quickly you adapt to new situations. Your first days of daycare, first swims, and every other new thing that your little life has seen. I am optimistic that, one day, you will sleep past 5:30am but in the meantime, I will try to enjoy the joy you feel in the mornings – how you happily play with your toys or explore your play zone as if you’d never seen it before.

The past year was the shortest year yet, I think.

Many hours seemed endless and some days felt long, the hours of sleep short, and the moments blurring together. There were days that felt like mere existence – just survival – and there were days where it felt like we thrived. Frenzied mornings in the stroller and hours of pacing, willing you to nap. There were lazy mornings snuggled together in bed and long evenings on the couch. You won’t remember them but I will. And I’ll cherish them.

As I laid you down to bed tonight, a year of love and memories and joy bubbled to the surface. It feels as though I wanted forever for you and now the time is slipping by too fast. But know this: I will love you to the moon, and back, a hundred times over, forever and ever.

And ever and ever and ever.

Love, Mama

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