Dear Apple and Orange,
Monday was your First Birthday, which deserves capitalization because it is Very Important.
Obviously, your birthday is mostly about you — how you are so big now that you fit into the “right” size — the clothes intended for your age group are actually the ones that fit, instead of the ones intended for babies 3 months younger than you. Or how you can pull up and stand just about anywhere, and cruise around the house. Or how Orange has forgotten a few times and stood on her own, and Apple is so quick with his army crawl that sometimes I look up and have no idea where he’s gone. And you’re so anxious to talk, both of you — you babble so seriously that I honestly feel dumb sometimes that I don’t know what you’re saying. It’s like you’re speaking French, and I really should get it, since I minored in French, but I’ve forgotten everything I knew, and honestly, Mother, I could not be clearer, are you listening!?
It’s also about how you learn something new every day: my favorites so far are clapping (which Apple does on cue every time someone says “yay”) and shaking your heads “no.”
But your birthday, especially this first one, is also a little teeny bit about me and your dad. Because we did it. You are alive and healthy after this first, most difficult (physically, anyway, please no one with teenagers comment on this entry) year. We kept you fed and pretty much clean, and the house didn’t burn down even when we were so, so tired that we might’ve forgotten to turn off the stove, and Raisin survived too, and I am pretty darn proud of all of us.
(And I’ve given up completely on grammar for this entry – call it a stream of consciousness in the spirit of James Joyce or something, because the run-ons and inappropriate conjunction placements are here to stay today.)
So, happy birthday, little ones! You are beautiful and lovely and smart and adorable, and we all love you with our whole hearts!