A year ago yesterday in the early morning hours, Diego was born. He was tiny and pink (and later orange due to jaundice) and crying out with deep breathes and strong lungs. His hair was plastered tight to his head and his brow furrowed as he looked around at what felt like dozens of people in the OR. I remember his serious gaze when I held him in the recovery area, smelling him in for the very first time. I remember how small he was bundled in the hospital blanket. We were in the hospital for four very long days and couldn't wait to get out, see the sun, take our baby boy home. He wore a striped body suit with dinosaur paw prints on the feet. He slept in our arms and ate and slept in the bassinet and yawned and grew in leaps and bounds.
Now? He's walking and babbling and teething like mad. He loves the cat and walks around trying to hug her. He hands me book after book to read, then pops on the ground to sit and listen. (His favorite right now is Dinosaur Roar.) We sing together now, too. Both of us making the movements for Wheels On The Bus or Itsy Bitsy Spider. He loves the bucket swing and climbing the stairs at the park. He's trying to go down the steps now, standing up. He'll look up at me, then down at the step, and then reaches up to grab my hands. I love holding his little hands. And he laughs. Giggles and chuckles. My smiling boy.
When I hold him, his legs sprawl out of my arms, too long to hold all of him anymore. He sprawls when I lay him down in his crib and I can see the young man he will be way too soon.
Happy Birthday Baby