Dear JEB,
Happy first birthday guy! I remember when we still counted your age in days, then weeks, then months, and now, the big "Y" word, YEARS! I have been spending this week thinking back about the time before we knew you. I mean, we knew some things about you before you were born ... like your squirmy nature and affinity for avocados and boiled eggs ... but on the whole, much about you was a big surprise: the boy parts, the hair, the not-much-sleeping schedule. How can it have been a whole year? At times it was really slow, and at times it flew. I think mostly it flew, because try as I may, I can’t ever remember a faster year.
This first year has been a time of learning and watching. Watching you, of course, as you grew and did your firsts: smiling, rolling over, laughing, sitting up, crawling, bursting through the bottoms of your footy pajamas, etc., but also watching how you've affected those around you. Like your grandparents, who laugh and marvel at you, who worry and glow about you, who count the days until they can see you again. And the great grandparents, who nearly burst with pride when they see you, the fourth generation! And the perfect strangers, who first oohed and aahed over all of your hair and who now wave back as you hold out your hand, "Hile Hitler" style, in passing. And I'm sure all of the above groups have gotten a huge kick out of your dad and me, making our stumbling entrance onto the stage of parenthood.
And you have watched and learned too. In fact, I think you could win some sort of Curiosity Award for all of your interest in everything around you -- airplanes, bugs, wheels, nuts & bolts, drawers, doors, rocks, coasters, VCRs, stuffed animals, CD players, the blinker in the car, balls, anything on TV, toilet paper rolls, measuring spoons, wrenches, toothpaste tubes, books, the list could go on and on. It is fascinating to watch you learn. You are a perfectionist (we have no idea where that came from). You practice skills over and over until you perfect them and then you look up, smile, and move on.
Most of the time I was pregnant with you we were jobless and homeless, floating around amongst relatives who all had to endure my crying spells, incessant nesting, and heartburn. Between May and July of 2004 we moved from Flagstaff, AZ to Austin, TX, then to Milwaukee, WI, and then to St. Croix Falls, WI. But despite our instability, your Great Grandma Ellie (after whom you would've been named had you been a girl) kept saying to us, "Your luck will change as soon as the baby's born."
Although we weren't jobless and homeless when you finally arrived (and by the way, why in the world did you keep us waiting for so long?!?!?), we didn't have a permanent home or job and were waiting to hear about the position that your dad has now at Radnor Lake. When you were born, we were living on the border of Wisconsin and Minnesota where your dad was a National Park Ranger at the St. Croix Scenic Riverway (and I was a regular at the public library and the Holiday Inn swimming pool). Your dad had an interview scheduled for this job (a permanent job he had waited on for MONTHS) on the very day that you popped out, and so he had to reschedule it. Then, when you were less than 24 hours old, your dad left the hospital to go home and shower, and in the middle of his shower, he got the phone interview call ... so he interviewed for this job standing in the middle of our dining room with a towel around his waist, dripping water everywhere and soaking the floor. But he got the job! And then he started saying that your Indian name was going to be "Little No Worries." Your Great Grandma was right.
Now, one year later, we still marvel at how incredibly lucky we are, although "no worries" may not be entirely true. We worry about you an awful lot, and mostly for no good reason, only those what-if kinds. OK, maybe "awful lot" is a titch understated, but there's no need to accentuate the obvious. I am only the teensiest bit neurotic about your health, and your grandmas and Auntie Amy may be just a little bit worse than me. So anyway, all that was just to say that you have brought us an incredible amount of luck and joy and love Love LOVE LOVE LOVE .
One year, three hospital visits, 12 months, 47 mommy meltdowns, 52 weeks, 150 lullabies, 365 days, 3,000 diapers, 525,600 minutes, or 1,000,000 kisses ... however you want to measure it, it's been quite a journey for us. It reminds me of a sappy song from the Broadway musical Rent called "Seasons of Love:"
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee,
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife?
In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.
How do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.
Happy first birthday John Emmett!
Love,
Mama
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