I was smoking more than I should have been last year. For whatever reason, I let my compulsions override my resolve. Could have been the ennui caused by living in front of a sand field covered with trash and rubble. Could have been the lack of trees, rain, or clouds; whatever the case, I remember the cigarettes and the humid night air coming in through the window. I remember listening to a lot of Aleix Murdoch songs the night you were born.
You were actually born on the morning of October 8th, but I was not calm until that night as I drove to check on things at home. It took me the entire day to convince myself that you were not going to die. You were born with difficulty breathing. Your blood wasn’t getting enough oxygen, so you had to be kept in the NICU.
I sat with you for most of the day, watching your tiny lips filled with tubes. You were tired and hungry and wanted to be held, but we couldn’t hold just yet. I pet your forehead and wondered how it was possible to spilt my love between you and your sister so seamlessly.
Suddenly there you were, this perfect new little person. You made our family complete. After a few days, you were fine and off the machines and in our arms and in our home. From the very first day you were born you have been the calmest being I have ever known. You were sleeping through the night by two months and you eat anything we put in front of you.
I often find you lost in contemplation staring out the window. Your eyes are filled with compassion and wisdom. You are only one, but I can already see the healing powers of your presence. You are rarely cranky, irritable, or upset. Your peaceful demeanor makes me want to grab and squeeze you until you grunt and giggle.
You are taking your sweet time walking; you only have one tooth. You babble and whisper the most important secrets to me as we walk and hug and kiss.
I cannot believe that it has already been a year. I want to wish you the happiest birthday. You have brought nothing but absolute joy to my life my perfect little bean.