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.