Old Man One

I have been meaning to put up photos of Ollie's first birthday for ages (a month, three weeks, one day). And as much as I'd like to blame it on how difficult it is to wrestle free time from long, busy days, I think it has more to do with how I'm dealing with said monumental first birthday: denial. Not only cannot I not fathom that my little just-born Ollie is a whopping one, I'm hardly ever thinking about how old he is. Ever.

With Cass, we were always rushing toward the next milestone in a hyper-age-awareness sort of way -- charting his developmental course with mental timelines, quiet other-baby observations/comparisons, and semi-honoring the sacrosanct American Academy of Pediatric guidelines about what one-year-olds should or should not be doing/eating/holding/drinking/feeling/etc.

Since turning one, Ollie has accidentally eaten peanut butter (more than once!), chalk and rocks; has not transitioned to a sippy cup (other than to pick up Cass' off the floor and try to lap up day-old juice leftovers); and regularly gnaws on things like pizza crust instead of organic, cane sugar-free, spinach-laced whole wheat teething biscuits. He *can* walk but chooses not to yet (a fact that, selfishly, rather pleases me, if we're being totally honest). He ignores all baby-appropriate wooden learning, stacking and sorting toys, preferring instead rubber ninjas, fast cars and objects so small and elusive, I can't find them to hide them. I once discovered him, halfway inside the kitchen cabinet sucking on the nozzle of a spray bottle. Thank God, we use Method.

Sure, he's one. But I still cradle, rock, sway and snuggle him like a baby every night before bed. And I'm not at all worried about creating the imminent barrage of irreversibly bad sleeping habits, fear-induced by all the Good Parent Handbooks I was always dog-earing in my first parent life. And you know what? This one has slept through the night since he was two months old--and I didn't do anything to foster that blessed miracle of miracles. OK, Now I'm just bragging.

What I'm trying to say is that because I'm not obsessively aware of exactly what Ollie is supposed to be doing every nano-second of his babyhood, I've been a lot freer to enjoy it. Oh! to hold a baby without the anxiety of being a first-time mom is like hormone-crack. It has been the best year of my entire life so far--a sentiment I plan to repeat this year. And next.

Happy first birthday, Ollie, my sweet baby.

Click for photos