dear maya | one year!

Dearest, sweetest little bear:

You've turned one year old!  And this welcoming of the second year of your life has been a bit bumbling--you had surgery the day before, and that surgery required you to go under twice and now you have a jagged cut all bandaged up (you hate that bandage and keep pulling it off, you turkey). 

And now?  We both have fevers.  Mean little fevers that have caused the ambient air to swing from freezing to firing and we're sleeping terribly.  But we snuggle so close together.

This recent month has you rumbling all over the house, climbing up, bringing props to get you higher and higher in this house.  You and the dogs are getting along better now; Zephyr appreciates the food you crumble behind you and Penelope accepts your gentle pets a bit better.  Gatsby is your household best friend and Libby tolerates you.  But only a little.

You've added doggie to your clear-as-a-bell word list.  The only other word on that is Hi!, and the clear-as-mud words are still kee-kee for kitty and mumumum and dadadada.  You also give me a funny little laugh when you want to nurse, but you also use the sign for it too. 

You remain:  sunny when you wake up.  Often I'm turned to the wall and you will pat me on the back and say, "HI!" and I'll turn over and you'll give me this big grin and our day has begun. 

Your schedule is something like this:  we're aiming for a new bedtime of ten o'clock (at your daddy's request) and we have managed to get closer to eleven.  You wake around nine-ish.  You nap around two-ish.  Everything is thoroughly -ish as far as timing goes.  As a stay-at-home-mama, these things matter less.

You attend:  library story hour and chatter at everyone.  You sing in your own sweet way when we do lap songs and you call back when stories are read and you say hi!hi! to everyone and you are the one who is moving moving moving the whole time.  Other mamas look amazed.  You are friendly and sweet and will share, though you also take too.  I'm reading a book called Positive Discipline not because you are naughty but because I'm not quite sure what my role is in playgroup situations.  Do I intervene?  You've only been moving beyond parallel play for a few months now, and you certainly won't enjoy it if your mama is hovering, making sure everything is fair with your playmates.

You tend to:  um, bite.  You're biting again.  You just got your seventh tooth around the holidays and we're waiting on that eighth, which is why I think you keep shoving things into your mouth, which can include your mama's arms.  Ouch, kiddo.  So I'm learning about redirecting, etcetera.  You're pretty complacent about distraction.

You, my sweetest, my little bud, my one-year-old.  My toddler, my climber-of-all-things.  My light in this dim winter.  I know what all the mamas are talking about when they say You've never known love like this.  I am ridiculously protective.  I am a mama-bear.  I swell with happiness.  We walk down the road and there is a vague shape, a maybe-car coming toward us, and my body shifts, already ready to bear the imaginary impact, the nothing-threat, the keep-you-close and keep-you-safe.  Every star, I wish:  Long, happy, healthy.  I want your life to be long and good, for you to be content with your path, and for you to have health the whole while.  I wish this for you as candles are blown you:  long, happy, healthy.