eLLe - one year old

Dear Butter Pie,

You turned ONE YEAR OLD on Saturday.


I'm sorry I didn't write you a post sooner. Maybe it's because I've been so busy with your grandparents in town and planning your birthday party. Maybe it's because since your daddy went back to work I feel I don't have as much time to spend in front of the computer. Or maybe it's because I'm in complete, total, and utter shock that YOU ARE A YEAR OLD. Seriously, my eye just twitched.

Though I can't even remember the last chapter in the book I read before bed last night, I can remember in bright, explicit detail the events and hours of a year ago.

I remember walking out on the new and awkward doctor who insisted we go in for immediate artificial induction. Calling my angels at Haleakala Waldorf School, who meditated and sang deep earth songs and sent me in to labor that same hour. Deciding on home birth, calling the midwife, and laying a tarp under the sheets of the guest bed. Moaning through the night as contractions ripped through me and the doula held me as she slept next to your tutu. Waking in the morning, 14 hours after labor had started, to find I was only 3 cm dilated. And walking, crying, and screaming for 14 hours more until we went on the world's longest, bumpiest car ride to Maui Memorial Medical Center, where we were ushered in, I relaxed, and you emerged, blue-fingered and crying, 6 hours later.


I remember that first night alone in the hospital, you mewling for milk, me so exhausted, trying to figure it out, everything surreal. I remember the nurses shaking me awake after I fell into the deepest sleep of my existence the next morning, because the doctors had checked you and you needed to be fed again.

I remember the drive home in the morning, how your daddy drove so slowly and it seemed that everyone else in the world should be driving slowly, too. That things were different. Colors were brighter. Shapes were sharper.

I remember swaddling you over clothes that we thought would never fit - they looked tiny enough to clothe a doll. Stroking your silk-soft, hairy back and shoulders. Watching you sleep as you softly moaned with each breath, communing with your angels.

I remember it all. And it was all a year ago. One whole year.

And here you are, my dear - rambunctious, lively, lovely, intelligent, enchanting, long-haired (pigtails every day!), serene, wiser than I can imagine. You still wave to something in the corner that I cannot see. You still make silly noises in your sleep. I still check on you at least three times each night before bed.


You are a delightful - gulp! - toddler. You toddle. You wobble. You explore and tug. You're incessant when you say "mamamamamamamamamama," but it sounds so sweet as the first word you sigh in the morning.

You're a year old! Holy cow!


You've taken such giant leaps in the last few days since your birthday, both literally (figuring out how to climb down the step into the dining room!) and figuratively (drinking cow's milk!). The weekend before last your Aunties Trisha, Cass, and Kelly and I got together for our annual reunion (7 years strong! Way to go, mammas!) and I chose those three days to be the Weaning Weekend. (Actually, you chose it, as you'd been showing less and less interest in the breast and we'd gone 2 or three days without breastfeeding on a couple occasions). So we are now officially nursing-free. And it is much easier than I thought it would be! I thought for sure I' d be so sad, longing for your warm little body and smooth suckle, the bonding it produced. But I'm actually handling it just fine, I'm not sore at all, and the fact that you had begun biting down with your two mini chompers helped the transition as well. So. Bottles it is. And that's okay.


You also got a forward-facing car seat for your birthday and now sit in the middle of the back seat, looking out! At first you didn't quite know what to think. You look like such a big girl in that car seat! The only thing I don't like about it is that when you fall asleep, your heavy little head lolls onto your chest and it doesn't look too comfortable!

You're eating like a pro. It's fun; when we go to restaurants we can actually order you something off the menu! The other night you had some plain pasta shells and before that, bits of a crustless grilled cheese sandwich! You love to feed yourself and refuse any food offered you from a jar or on a spoon. I think you may have fed yourself some of Mila's dog food tonight. Well.


You have been a pretty good little sleeper. At night, anyway. For the past few weeks you've been flirting with the idea of taking only one nap during the day, and only in the morning, but I've had to put my foot down. Girl, you need your afternoon nap. Mama needs your afternoon nap.

We had a first birthday party for you on Saturday. It was supposed to rain, but we all got together and did a little sun dance, and sure enough, we were outside for much of the party! you scored lots of loot - toys, clothes, and books. You had about 10 of your new little friends over to enjoy cupcakes, which you immediately smashed right into your face. I put so much energy into planning the party and watching over the course of events that I neglected to take many photos, and we didn't get ANY video of me presenting you with the little burning "1" candle. Also, though all of your grandparents were there - even great-grandma Leona! - we didn't get a single family shot. Oh, well. The day is, I'm sure, ingrained in all our hearts and minds.


Since you were born, you've slept either right next to our bed or in the adjacent alcove room, where we can hear your every sigh and where, since you're such a light sleeper, we have to tiptoe around if we need to enter the bedroom or use the bathroom. So we've decided that as of this week, either tomorrow or the next day, we're moving you upstairs to your "big girl room." I am thankful I've had a couple weeks to get used to this idea. We'll see how it goes! And I promise I'll still be looking in on you at least three times before I go to bed.


I love you, Luciya! Thank you so much for choosing me.

Love,
Mama