It's sad but true. My baby is 1. I am beside myself with emotions. I put on my happy face and tell people that I am excited. But really, its fake. I am a big fat white liar that just wants to ball up on my bed and bury my face in my pillow. Do you know how fast this year has flown? My sweet baby girl is trying to walk. Is it bad I have actually thought about pushing her over "accidentally" to stop the gravitational pull of growing up from happening? She has 6 teeth and we can tell there are more to come. She is increasing signs by the day and is starting to gain confidence in her surroundings. I want to coddle her and keep her little for as long as humanly possible.


She likes to play a game in the car while I am driving. She can see me in her rear facing mirror and says "Mama?" I always respond with "Yes, boo boo?". She then says "Hi, Mama!". and this game continues on as long as she can have my attention. Or she will sit and make sounds that her siblings love to mimic. They say she is playing "Simon says" with them and they find it hysterical!

 
She is our joy each morning. Her smile melts hearts around her. She is sweet, happy and content. I would be lost without her. I am excited for the future. Trips to Disneyland. Traveling and memory making. I am excited to teach her how to run, how to craft and how to cook. How to love, how to play fair and how to pick yourself back up through heartache and tears. To trust in God and to find friends that build you up, not tear you down. But through all the excitement, when I hold her in my arms and rock her a while longer before she falls asleep. I can't help but stare down at the chubby little hand that is rubbing my arm and reaching out to me and get teary eyed.

She is our last. She is the final chapter of our novel. She is the one that completes us. Or as my friend described her yesterday she is the sundae to our 3 course meal.