the first year

Dear Matthew,

Happy first birthday! An entire year has vanished already, and I can't quite believe you are now officially a year old.

Many are surprised when I tell them your age, anticipating you to be a much older boy. And it's not just your looks that give people that impression. It's your social interactions, waving to folks from your perch in the shopping cart. It's your determination, pursuing forbidden objects like staplers, laundry drains and iPhones. It's your eating habits, chowing on everything that's plated before you. Are your siblings the inspiration to set your sights so high? Clearly Andrew and Morgan are influential for your play as you find much more joy in Matchbox Cars and Barbies then the ring stacker and Pop-N-Pals you've already mastered. How lame, those baby toys are to you. Especially when you can flush the toilet or turn on the bath tub.























Now that you are mobile, I constantly find you in places where babies don't really belong. Or people. I think it's safe to say you will be our adventurous one. Seeking out new destinations for exploration is exciting for you. And coincidentally, our guard seems to be down. It takes Daddy and I longer to realize that silence means trouble, when most days, we're just so elated to have silence, that we forget it's the red flag.



































Still, though, in so many ways you act like a typical 12-month old, throwing tantrums when you aren't allowed to touch the remote, babbling your way through conversations, trying to roll your way out of a diaper change. And at times you still struggle with sleeping. If our schedule has been pushed too hard, or if your soon-to-be teeth are pushing through, you often need to be scooped from the crib and rocked, body across my chest, head nuzzled into my shoulder with your white, starry blanket acting as your pillow - you adore that blanket. These moments of consolation remind me of the first weeks after your birth. Daddy and I were exhausted, but took turns in the darkness of the living room reclined across the couch with pillows propped and the Boppy around our waists, cradling you in the very same position, making our best attempts at sleep. You were so new then. Even at nine pounds, so small. And now I bend your knees so we can get the best fit. Our baby is changing before our eyes.

























Aiding your chart-topping growth is your love of food. The sound of work in the kitchen brings you crawling quickly, now climbing up the back of my legs, standing. Waiting. Is it time to eat something? I try to devour my meals in secret, knowing you will come to my chair and beg to be lifted, curious about what's on my plate. And oh, can I have a bite, too?

I remember at your 9-month well visit telling Dr. M. about the insane portions of food you were putting away. In fact, I'm pretty sure I described it as "alarming amounts". He laughed. And in his typical character said, "Matthew looks good, Mom. Let 'em eat. I'm pleased." And so we do let you eat. A lot. You're a growing boy. One who surely will eat us out of house and home. A family trait, you rub your feet together when you eat. A strong indication that you, too, will fall in love with popcorn someday.


















Aside from food, your other favorite loves are Mommy, Daddy, Morgan, Andrew. In that order. I can't tell you how much I love that you desire to be Daddy's as soon as he walks through the
door after work. And not just because my kitchen magnet is gone and I am free momentarily (Remember - you CLING to me in that room daily.) But because you have a special connection with him. Just like with your siblings, Daddy is the patient, fun one who whisks you away for laughter and giggles while he takes off his tie and dress shoes. You both emerge so happy. Glad to be reunited. And yes, I'm sure glad to be bellying up to the table one more time for the day.


You and Morgan have also hit it off this year. Maybe it's her mothering instinct, her sisterly kindness, her age, her personality. As much as I love to assess, I cannot here. You just click together. She tickles, you giggle. She says "don't touch", you understand by shaking your head "no". She swoons and gushes in her best baby voice, you take it all in.
























Andrew is someone that you are unsure about. Or maybe you are very sure. You know that his affection is a bit more rough than Morgan's, and when he gets near for a quick tickle, you squirm and wriggle away. He wants so much to get physical with you and love you in that way despite your hesitation. I am sure that in just a few short years, though, you two will be pals, adventuring through boyhood together.
























There is more to you, Matthew, than just your off-the-chart size, love of food, and interaction with our family. In the last several months you have become very conversational. Sometimes, even outspoken. We chat together, you and I, like normal adults. No baby talk, no kitchy-kitchy-coo. Just natural interaction, your responses sounding more like an adult speaking a foreign language, complete with inflection and pauses and thoughtful interjections. And when you disagree or are insistent or just flat out need some attention, you raise your voice and yelp to make sure we all know you mean business.




















You are also a smart little boy (and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom). There's an intuition inside your brain that surprises me. Having never eaten a tomato, you helped yourself to one from my recent garden harvest and immediately sunk your teeth into it, like an apple. Without seeing inside a cup, you can differentiate between water and milk after one sip. Being coordinated enough to conquer a flight of stairs? Mastered at 11 months. I find myself checking your whereabouts before, say, opening a drawer or plugging in a fan because you will immediately mimic me and figure out the task at hand after just one attempt.


















The determination you have is unending, or so it seems sometimes. After your mission is revealed - "secure laptop mouse immediately" - you will stop at nothing to obtain it. Holding your prized possession, you immediately look at me, knowing. Daddy and I will need to maintain clear messages to you in the future, making sure they sink in deep.



















What else is there to say about our sweet Matthew Evan? You have beautiful brown eyes, a completely different shade than Andrew's. Your feet are Dutch and have been barefoot most of the summer. I confess to trimming some long, whispy hairs that hung above your ears, but so far, that's the only sign of growth on top of your big melon. And you love having that melon scratched. You have nearly eight teeth and an addiction to fruit. You think smoothies are the bees knees.You can't get past 10 hours of sleep at night, despite some pretty valiant attempts by your parents to stretch you out a couple more hours. At times you think you are invincible.

















It's been quite a ride, this last year. If nothing else, Matthew, you've taught me to let go just a little bit more. The foods you eat, the messes you make, the adventures you seek. The third time around has cleared my vision. I see now why the "baby" of the family is off the hook so much. The battles we choose to fight with you and the implementation of our parenting has become so much more relaxed. If I only new then what I know now, right?
























Tonight as I rocked you, my eyes closed and I prayed over you, asking God to keep you in good health, to help you make good choices as you grow, for special friends to come into your life, and even for your future wife. And then I thanked Him. I looked down at your sweet cheeks and your closed eyelids and thanked Him for blessing us with you. Daddy and I love you, Matthew. And we are ready for you to show us more.


Smooches,
Momma


So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

Colossians 2:5-8