My babies turn one in just over a month (34 days to be exact). I remember thinking, when they were around 4.5 months old, that there would never be a time that I would: a.) leave my living room again, b.) not be feeding a baby from my body again, c.) smell clean air again (so much spit up!!).
The first six months were sloooooow. Not bad, not stressful, not miserable. Just slow. You don’t go anywhere and the novelty of having kids wears off for most and visitors slow down and you are just alone, in the winter, in your house, all damn day, with two creatures that rely 100% on you and oh, by the way, they can’t talk. I talked to myself a lot back then.
Then one day I woke up and they were ten months old. I honestly don’t know how it happened. Looking through the photos on my computer I realized how much I’ve lived this year. Amazing. So in honor of my little miracles, I’m going to play memory catch-up over the next month. Forgive me while I spend the next 30 days reliving the most amazing year of my life so far.
