Well, it's here. Brock's first birthday. I did not anticipate the emotions this day would trigger. I thought, more than anything, I would just be a little sad my teeny, tiny infant is now unquestionably a toddler. I thought I would miss some of his previous, adorable, needy stages. Instead, I got a flood of memories. I remember the day my water broke, the anticipation during labor, and seeing a wonderful, perfect, healthy baby boy. I remember the general feeling, the aura if you will, that surrounded that entire moment of birth and the crazy weeks to follow. I know that every subsequent child will provide me with new and unique experiences, emotions and love, but I really feel none can touch that of the first child. I have no expectations with Brock. Everything he does, every landmark he achieves, provides me with constant amazement.
After childbirth, though I know billions of women have been through it before, I felt like a rockstar. And the same proves true for seeing my child grow and learn. Though I know he is right on track with every other healthy baby, I see him and think, no way is any other baby as perfect as Brock. I mean, do other 11 month-old children pick up an empty plastic pitcher and put it to their mouth to pretend like they are drinking, fake gulping noises and all? Do they call Bermuda from their mother's cell phone? Do they say mom, dad, dog, baby and neigh neigh neigh neigh? Do they know how to identify their stuffed animal's by name? Do they prefer techno music to any other genre? I am as amazed and obsessed with that child every bit as much today as I was a year ago from now. I keep waiting for this feeling to disappear, and I just don't think it will. For that, I am happy.
Happy Birthday, Brock Thomas.