1 year old

The little badger has turned 1! A year ago yesterday, Stephenie Meyer annoyed me into labor, and 13 hours later Leif was born a limp blue thing with his cord twice around his neck. The feeling of him solidifying into a firm living baby with his first breath is one that will never leave me. He's a baby born of a reluctant reconcilliation in the wake of heartbreak, and he has done more to heal our family than we dared hope for. On the news today the pictures of 1 year-old birthday kidlets were narrated with descriptions like, "she enjoys tickle-me-elmo and eating rice" or "he likes to play with his grandma and watch cartoons". Is this the most descriptive thing that can be said about their children? I think there may be more to it than that. This is Leif. He enjoys playing with cat food, eating toilet paper, blowing fart noises, sneaking up and yanking on his brother's hair, and nursing on just one side (am now amazing one-breasted woman). At 12 months, he is cautious about standing and prefers to power-crawl until he forgets to move an arm and face-dives into the floor at high speed. He can say [inconsistently] "dad", "cat", and "piko", and understands "not the catfood!" "stay out of the toilet", "wanna nurse?" and "be nice to the kitty". On the two-hour drives to town he croons himself to sleep and sings along with the radio. At night I sing to him while he drifts off nursing, and he strokes my cheek and shoulder with his chubby hand until it falls limp. I love him so much. Happy birthday, baby boy. 

  

We made brownies instead of cupcakes last night. I had an ambition be ultra-crafty like other blog moms and make a brownie tower with little handmade flags on toothpicks, but in the end we just stood around and ate them out of the pan. That is how we roll.