Thursday night, on the eve of our youngest’s first birthday, I parked myself in front of the computer and looked at pictures from the previous year. To try and remember his little newborn face. To see all that happened in what felt like three months.
There I was, with a (large) basketball-belly. Then a wailing close-eyed, red-faced little creature. Two (much younger looking) older boys surrounding their new baby brother, dozing on a blanket on the floor. And the baby, increasingly alert and person-like in each subsequent picture. Eyes open. Smiling. Fading acne. Fading baldness. Fleeting googly-ness. Sitting in a bumbo seat. Sitting up all by himself. Interacting with his brothers. Crawling. Messing with his brothers’ toys.
Big brown eyes. Pat Sajak-esque hair. And a killer smile, conveniently flashed when he knows he’s doing something he’s not supposed to.
‘Did I toss that plate full of food on the floor?‘ Grin. ‘Am I eating bacteria-laden pebbles?‘ Bigger grin.
So we celebrated twelve months of Percy’s astonishing metamorphoses on Friday. Somewhat awkwardly, since I’d invited some of the Hen’s friends over to celebrate his one-day-later-birthday with him. Causing the professor to reflect, ‘I didn’t know whose birthday it was.’
There was a (delicious!) cupcake he didn’t really care for. The annual set of footprints that had to be replicated s-i-x times before I had something that resembled tiny human feet. And there were presents his brothers were more than happy to open for him and ‘borrow’ from him. In fact, the only way I managed to get a picture of the little guy without one of his brothers’ hands or faces obscuring my view, was to take him outside after his bath. Alone.
To think that one year ago I was sitting in my room at the Rockyview Hospital, cradling a ‘tiny’ newborn in my lap while staring into his completely-foreign-yet-familiar-face.
Fast forward three hundred and sixty five days, and I was carrying a bigger, more familiar version of that newborn out of my office. ‘No, you can’t have my pen,’ I refused as he reached for the good pen lying on my desk. ‘You need to go to bed now,’ I announced as I carried him out of the office, and upstairs to his crib.
While he shook his head ‘no’. Vigorously.