Dear Mommy,
I’m 1 now, Mommy. Mommy, mommy, stop crying. It’s OK. I’m still
your little munchkin.
Dear Mommy,
I’m 1 now, Mommy. Mommy, mommy, stop crying. It’s OK. I’m still your little munchkin. I’m just a little taller and I can do more big girl stuff, like walk and throw Daddy’s golf balls to Lucy.
I wanted to let you know that you are a great Mommy. I know I don’t tell you often enough. I try, but it’s hard when I can’t talk yet. But I’m telling you now that if I had to do it over, I would choose you as my Mommy again.
I had you and Daddy all picked out before I was born. But when my birth day arrived, I assure you I had no idea what I was getting myself into. One moment, I was warm and comfortable, the next I was lifted into the bright, big world and placed in your arms.
It was a soft, welcoming place, and since then I have never felt alone. Through your eyes, I have seen the world. Our home, Daddy, our dog Lucy, the sky, birds, water, books, and parks. And I have felt love. Each hug, embrace, kiss, walk down the hallway, stroll around the block, and pat on the back has cradled and protected me.
I know you may not think you are always doing a perfect job. Like the time I rolled off the bed and fell onto the floor. Or the time I got my finger caught in the back door. But babies don’t remember things like that. We’re resilient.
And besides, you have always been the best Mommy for me.
You and I have been through a lot in the past year, haven’t we? Learning how to breastfeed. Learning to like bath time. Meeting other Mommies and babies. Sleeping through the night. Not sleeping through the night. Trying to nap. Eating solid foods.
Then there were the days that meant I was getting bigger. The day I stopped wearing a bib all day, the day I could sit up for more than a few seconds, the day I napped all by myself without the vacuum going, the day I started crawling and the day I took my first step.
You and Daddy have been there every second. The world is a big place, and it’s not so big when you are holding me and pointing things out for me. I’ve gotten to meet a lot of neat people, too. Like my Grandma and Grandpa, my Auntie Katie, and my Nana and Grandpa. And all our friends in Gilroy, especially the Grandmas at the Chamber of Commerce.
I’ve learned a lot of things, too. Like rocks aren’t meant to be thrown, that Mommy likes to sleep a few extra minutes while Daddy and I watch “Barney,” that dog food isn’t for babies, and if given three seconds I can get into a lot of fun trouble.
I’ve also learned to bring you a book to read to me, that the sound of the garage door and loud footsteps means Daddy is home, how to run out from behind the couch and surprise you, and how to tie my shoes. OK, maybe that last one will come in a year or two. A girl’s got to have goals.
I think I’ve taught you a thing or two as well. Like that I need time to wake up in the morning just like Daddy does. I get cranky if I don’t get my naps. And that no matter where you’ve been or how long you’ve been gone I will light up like a firecracker when I see you step through the door.
So, Mommy, we have done it. We survived our first year as Mommy and Emma. I think we did pretty good. What do you think? Don’t cry, Mommy. It will be OK. I’m not planning on going anywhere for a long time. Who else would fix my eggs the way that you do? Who would sing me my favorite elephant song before I take my nap? Who else would throw me up in the air, and then kiss me on my cheek? No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.
I love you,
Emma
