Happy Birthday Oliver!

I remember being in the hospital and marveling at how I could report Oliver's age in hours, and then felt sad as the days ticked by and I was soon referring to how old he was in weeks. Well, weeks turned into months and now here I am, one year from the day Oliver came into our lives. I watched a neighbor cradle her tiny, sleeping three-week-old against her chest and I started to say, I remember when Oliver was that little, but stopped, because I realized that I can't actually remember him ever being that small. Now I'm the parent saying, "They grow up so quickly, don't they?"

Raising a baby has proven to be simultaneously the most humbling and joyful experience in my life. No parenting books or warnings from seasoned friends could have prepared me for what it would be like to be up at all hours of the night for weeks on end, to feel my blood pressure rise with each wail, to question every decision I make about Oliver, to second- and third- and fourth-guess those decisions, or to worry until my heart aches.

And yet I can't imagine life without my little boy. The baby whose happiness is my happiness. Who flashes a huge toothless smile at the sight of me. Who loves no one more in the world than his mom or dad. Whose his own person with his own personality, thoughts and desires. And whose toys scattered around the house, fleet of strollers cluttering our front porch and the debris zone left at meal times remind me that my life has forever changed. But for the better.

We're throwing a party for Oliver to celebrate his first birthday. Sure he doesn't understand the concept of birthdays or that we're gathering to celebrate him, so I'll admit that the party is just as much for Chris and me. Because what we're also celebrating is that we made it our first year as parents. And like the past year, we expect the next twelve months to be everything, yet nothing we expected.