September One

Here we are, September first, in the year two thousand and fifteen. Whether we like it or not. Today baby Violet is eleven months old. When I get to this point of my baby's first year, I always think back to where I was one year ago. Pregnant. Hot. (Not in a sexy way.) Fat. Uncomfortable. Anticipating labor and having a newborn and all that entails. And like a blink, I'm past it. It happens to everyone with a baby. Yet the sting is real. You love every single day, and every day they get older brings more joy and adventure. But they grow without your consent and sometimes you can't keep up emotionally. 

I'm not crying myself to sleep or anything, but having the first year in front of you is like a promise you can't believe you've been granted. Having it nearly behind you leaves you feeling like that very promise ran at a much faster pace than you could ever keep up with and you want to beg it to slow down. And at the very same time you don't really want to go back--you feel grateful and blessed to have nearly made it through the first year with a healthy child. 

There, that's it. Even though I am still a month away from the first birthday, I've gotten my nostalgia and bittersweet musings out of my system. Today I have an eleven month old. And she continues to be a violet joy, a wonderful bundle of happiness that is the color of the bruises you bear as a parent. The joy with the pain, the laughing with the crying, the beauty in a dirty diaper. 

It's September One. I am content. 

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