When you turned one I thought I felt enough gratitude to fill the mountain tops and then also build more mountains so that the entire world would be a mountainous wonderland. Even though shortly thereafter I started recovering from an unplanned surgery, I still didn't think I could feel more gratitude that I got to spend endless time holding your hands as your feet tried to take their first, unassisted steps; as you climbed the stairs, craw by crawl, as you sat in your new bear chair and smiled into the New Year. I didn't think my gratitude would grow as we went from park to park in the Colorado winter sunshine, or as you learned to love to swing, or as I talked desperately to you about the importance of women's rights during marches and protests. Not even did I think my thankfulness could get deeper as the February sun shone on the sand you threw in the playground at grandma and grandpa's when dadda was overseas. But it continued.
Then we got into the swing of winter, went to more parks, swung on your very own swing, cleaned more spaghetti and noodles off of your plump cheeks and the floor, and you took your first steps in March. And as you drew on the sidewalk for the very first time, still I thought, "How did I get so lucky?" As you grew out of shoes, into playing peekaboo in your teepee, watched snow fall from our big living room windows, and clung to my side (even when I took a weekend away with my girlfriends), I knew my capacity to be grateful for you kept growing and growing.
Then spring came and you relished the flowers and sunshine. You loved on every bunny you could find, especially the big one at grammy and grandpy's. We laughed together over the same things, you crawled in Truckee's crate repeatedly, sorted magnets, planted seeds with daddy and I, and went to the library to hear stories. With the warming weather, my unending love for you still grew.
When summer came and the winds died down, you ate dirt and wore floppy hats. When I was hurting so much, you were there to be my comfort, my safety. You helped me heal in ways I can't express. And my gratitude grew. Even when dada and I went to Arizona for the weekend, your anger and sadness when I returned I understood full-heartedly; we are inseparable and for that I am so grateful. We splashed the summer away taking rides in your wagon and wading in the neighborhood pool. You babbled and cooed and got excited about ladybugs and Truckee running through the yard. We painted pictures and made paper hats and your little, beautiful feet turned a speaklessly beautiful color brown from walks under the hot Colorado sun. You splashed in every puddle you could find and ran with abandon through every sprinkler - usually in your clothes. And still, I loved you more for who you were, and who you were showing us you were becoming. My gratitude felt like it could move mountains. On your first trip to the zoo you loved the water more than the animals and when I wanted to make a stepping stone of your tiny feet, you threw concrete in our yard.
You put on hats and necklaces, bopped to every music you heard, carried your blanket through the yard and into your crib for nap time, and hiked through Black Forest on my back. You loved playing piano and brushing your teeth, spinning and reaching and trying to jump. Grammy and Grandpy got an RV and you found new joy in your ever-growing love of buses and trucks and cars. When the school bus started to come in late summer, we ran outside to say hello. I taped the truck page in the Little Blue Truck back together over and over from all the love you gave it. In August you welcomed the giant bear home and we went to the farm in Fort Collins where you talked to chickens and goats and loved on all of us. And still, I thought my gratitude could not grow.
Then in fall we saw hot air balloons and chased the sunlight to evening. We watched the leaves turn and put on extra layers. We went to Broomfield and you got car sick again and again. The playground we always went to was now yours to climb all over without much assistance. You loved getting ice cream out of the container and watching all the dogs play in the pool on the last day of pool season. Our daily walks to the mailbox started to include a trip to the park, by the water in the neighbor's yard, and back home again. I built you a dollhouse and your never-ending imagination and love for play expanded. We went to Taos for a wedding and you slept like a champion in your pack n play. As halloween came, so did butterflies and decorations: you took it all in to your heart's content. We found bird's nests as the leaves changed and climbed in the dirt in the park behind our house. We rode the train in the mall and dressed like CareBears for a chilly Halloween. When dada got back from overseas again, you relished his love and Kinder Surprise eggs he brought home. And still, my gratitude for you grew and grew.
When you turned one I didn't think that I could be happier that you chose me to be your mama; but now I know. On your second birthday my love and admiration for you will never stop growing. My gratitude that I get to be in your life swells to the heavens and back. I cherish every moment with you, my love, my girl, and I am so happy that you are mine. I love you.
