Happy birthday
Mary,
You're a year old today. I still can't believe it. Less than 18 months ago, your mother and I didn't even think we could have you. When your mother told me that day in December that those tiny blue lines were proof positive, I could have flown without the aid of any jumpline.
Those next nine months brought their own ups and downs for us both, but we never anticipated just how beautiful you would be. This last year has gone by so fast - I understand now what parents mean when they say their children grow up too fast. You're no longer a baby, but not quite a toddler. You're learning new words, figuring out how the world works. You love bubbles and cars and music, apple juice and Goldfish crackers (white cheddar, specifically). I find crumbs in places I wouldn't even think had places, I've gotten oatmeal in my hair, I've cleaned up more bodily fluids than I'll ever care to admit to in these last twelve months. I've taken up more digital media with photographs and movies than a crime lab. I've told you every Rom story I know, and learnt more besides.
I wouldn't change a thing.
You're not old enough to read this, or even understand it for a few more years yet. But you will. And I hope when you do, that you still love us as much as your mother and I love you.
Happy first birthday, Peanut.