The Edge of One
So about five minutes ago I was writing Redmond’s birth story and now very suddenly, he is almost a year old. I can vividly remember holding my infant to my cracked and aching nipples and watching my one year old niece happily toddling around the living room. I had mastitis. I was overwhelmed and ill and my husband had started back at work and my sister was there helping me, comforting me, and all I could think was…I can’t imagine my tiny newborn being a year old. I can’t imagine him being independent from me for even a moment. And here we are. My niece will be two, Redmond will be one. How? WHAT IS THIS THING WE CALL TIME? I know. We all rattle on about how fast it goes and holding on to time and all the rest but…my goodness.
I haven’t been diligent about these little updates. I want to start journaling more so that I don’t forget what he was like as he grows older. So here, as we cusp upon the first year, is a little check in.
Redmond likes to please people. He is friendly, and outgoing. He will initially smile a someone, and then hide his face in my shoulder, and then peek out and smile and usually reach for them. He just started crawling, and it is hilarious and adorable to watch him. One knee is still up, and he sort of pulls with his arms and pushes with his other leg and he is so excited to be able to explore on his own. He is continuously trying to get outside to sit on the porch and sample cat food. He just started pulling himself up to standing as well. He is very proud of his abilities and looks around at us for approval and congratulations with his big toothy grin.
He has ten teeth now. He just got two top molars, and he was patient and brave while they broke through. He loves to eat. I still nurse him 3-4 times a day, but he is growing less interested in breastfeeding and I know I will miss it desperately. Even if he pulls my hair and sticks his fingers up my nose while he is doing it. His favorite foods so far seem to me Mexican (rice and beans, guacamole, pulled spicy pork, refried beans, ect.), pizza (if it has lots of exciting toppings on it. He isn’t that into plain cheese, and I don’t know why he feels the need to be so pompous about his pizza but he probably gets it from me.), anything with curry or coconut, and any meat he can get his hands on.
He loves to perform his “tricks” for us, and he is slowly adding to his repertoire. He waves hello and goodbye, blows kisses (my favorite), gives high fives, nods yes and no, and points at things he wants. He says “dog-dog”, “mama” (only when he needs something…). “ball” and “Dada” every time he gets even a glimpse of Nick. He also is starting to say “that” when he points.
He got his first hair cut last week, and I love it. He looks like a little soccer player, and it fits since his favorite game to play is “catch” with his mini soccer ball. He’s so tall, and so handsome, that he just keeps looking more like a toddler and it breaks my heart but makes me feel so proud.
He is so much fun. He’s social, and friendly, and is generally happy as long as he has people to meet, places to see, and feet that aren’t sweaty. He likes traveling, sleeps like a pro, and loves being around other kids. He is my little side-kick, and his daddy’s boy, and our favorite thing in the world.
These photos are just a smattering of some of my favorites from a few days with him this past month. A few of them made it to Instagram, but I wanted to put a few more up here– the ones that maybe aren’t the highest quality, but warm my heart so much.
I found this while I was reading through my journal, and reminding myself of why I like to keep a record of life. I wrote it when I was pregnant, and the sentiments ring so true a year into motherhood.
There is a cracked rhythm to this pain I feel.
Each twinge a medallion of honor in a battle that,
having just begun, will not end until my body is
laid to rest inside the deep, warm earth.
A creaking of time, at once these days with you,
imagined one, are long and sweet
and quick and terrifying– my hopes are so high.
They are like a helium balloon, my hands small
like a childs’, tugging on the string–
scared to lose it, to break it, to see any harm come to it.
And yet, my wrists are tied.
My control is waning.
There is nothing I can do against this wave,
this terrible, wonderful wave of love for you.
Our hearts yearnings all wrapped tight in so tiny a package.
The creaking in my ribs, and the upset in my belly
seem too light a price to pay. Such a miracle
should require more.