One.

I almost feel like I'm writing fiction rather documenting the facts of real life, but believe it or not, our baby turned one today. It has been one full year, 365 days, since those breathtaking moments of labor and delivery that brought us Naomi. Breathtaking might be the best word to describe the past year in its entirety, since growing and delivering and loving and raising a baby has continually rendered me be breathless. Thinking back on it, I held my breath (and tried, often unsuccessfully, to hold back tears) through each contraction and every push; as we brought her home so small and new; during doctor's appointments and vaccinations; when Drew left us home alone together for the first time; when we attempted grocery shopping together for the first time; when she really puked for the first time; when she started smiling; when I kissed her, sleeping in the backseat, at the airport before leaving for Mexico; each and every time I left her with a babysitter; as she learned to sit up; that time she hit her head because she wasn't perfect at it yet; when she started talking; when she started walking; when she slept; when she didn't sleep; as we've introduced her to new places, spaces, and faces; and in so many other moments as she has touched and tasted her way through one small corner of this planet.

But I have breathed Naomi in, too, and deeply. In my mind, she smells like a brand new, unwashed baby; like breastmilk and cheesy spit-up; like heavy diapers in the morning and like poop of course, in its many varieties; like sweet sweat after a nap; like her cottony, crocheted blanket and lamb lovey; like strawberries and graham crackers; like sunscreen mixed with grass and dirt; and like honey soap and lotion at bedtime. Sometimes it's difficult to remember the tiny, helpless baby we brought home, or the two-month-old swaddled next to our bed, or the four-month-old sleeping soundly on my chest, transformed as she is into the jabbering, dancing toddler that graces our lives now. But, like all of the things we breathe in and smell, that infant and the moments we've spent watching her grow over the past year have woven themselves into our subconscious, forming deep memories that quietly but powerfully evoke our emotions and shape our perceptions of the world. 

How do you adequately celebrate a life that has so profoundly and irrevocably changed your own? Hoping that our everyday demonstrates gratitude and a bit of awe for Naomi's life, her first birthday was a lot like any other day. While I admittedly had a few twinges of doubt about not hosting a bigger to-do, I think keeping it all very low-key was just right. In the morning, Naomi and I made chocolate cupcakes and lasagna (her favorite), and after Drew got off work, we enjoyed them with Drew's parents, who happened to be in town, and his grandparents, who are always right down the road.

Naomi tried the batter for everyone, just to make sure it tasted okay, and she definitely approved; there are perks to using an eggless recipe. 

Naomi is lucky enough to share her birthday with one very special great-papa who showed her the ropes of opening presents, helping her unwrap some new toys that have quickly become her favorites - puzzles, bath squirters, and her very first baby doll.

Her great-papa also helped her blow out her one birthday candle, officially closing her first year of life and his eightieth.

After a quick strip-down, we gave Naomi her very own cupcake to eat. She liked it well enough, but she was far more interested in what it felt like smashed between her fingers and toes than in how it tasted in her mouth. 

On Friday, while Drew was on a Scout campout, Naomi and I celebrated her birthday again with a slumber party with Grammy and Aunt Jenn. They gifted her with her very own ballpit (which, thankfully, lives at their house). She wasn't so sure about the whole thing at first, but, with a little encouragement, she changed her tune and couldn't get enough of her balls.

In the end, celebrating Naomi's first birthday was a fun formality, practiced primarily for those of us who have rocked, fed, entertained, taught, serenaded, kissed, held, and loved her through the past year. After all, she doesn't remember the significance of April 27, 2014 or the details of April 27, 2015; but I do. It's thought that the tradition of blowing out birthday candles originates in the ancient belief that smoke carries our prayers - or our birthday wishes - to the heavens. I'm not sure that Naomi currently has the either the foresight or the sense of deprivation required to make wishes for the future, but the smoke from her one little flame did carry some weighty prayers with it - mine. As she begins her second year of life, I pray that she continues to grow healthy and strong, to enjoy good food and hard play and sound sleep; that she stays curious and open to the world around her, always eager to learn and expand her mind, even when it's challenging; that she maintains her raw joy for the little things in life, especially as she experiences a spectrum of other emotions that will compete for her energy; that she develops a strong sense of self and self-worth that fuel her independence and resilience; that she keeps telling me her stories and keeps learning how to express herself so that she always feels heard and understood; but mostly, I hope that she always knows how very much she is and will always be treasured and loved and wanted.

After a year with Naomi, I still find myself caught off guard, surprised every single day by just how much and how completely I love her; I'm still amazed that mothering her still leaves me so breathless.