One Year

I love this age!

I love a one year old baby.

I love the jerky, belly-first toddling ending with a dead-weight fall to the floor where the hippy hands-and-knees crawling takes over.

I love the belly laughs and giggles. I love to tickle the baby-toddler feet and tummy to have it returned with loud guffaws and joyful blasts. And then to have the victimized belly or toes offered up again for more.

I love the ornery laughs when I come around the corner to find a cabinet opened and its contents emptied. And then the even louder laughs from the retreating offender as I wag my finger, "No, no, no!"

I love the snuggles into my chest and shoulder. I love the shy tilt of the head into me when we talk to someone.

I love the lengthy, babbling conversations on the pretend phones, the computer mice, the walkie-talkies, the remotes.

I love the calls to "Ma-ma-ma" from across the room.

I love the happy breakfast-y requests of "Na-na-na."

I love the way milk is drunk from a cup with such slurping and snorting and breathlessness it's as if it's the best thing ever tasted.

I love the kisses of lips pulled into the mouth determined to make the "Mwa!" sound.

I love the fat, dimpled hands grabbing and pointing and waving and opening and closing for me to "come here!"

I love the arms reached overhead to be picked up and then wrapped around my neck.

I love the soft baby songs sung in my lap in the dark right before falling asleep.


I love the "Good Morning" smile and jumping bounce in the crib like the day just couldn't start until I walked in that door.

I love this angel.