Dear Gus: One

Dear Gus,

A year ago today you made your grand entrance into this world, sort of dramatically, a little unexpectedly, but surrounded by love (and lots of medical professionals). We heard the doctor very quietly announce, “baby out,” to the rest of her team, and a moment later you made the sweetest, most amazing sound. Actually, you sounded a lot like a kitten, which is sort of funny, because we’re Dog People.

You looked like this:

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Now, you look like this:

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You cruise around like you own the place. You can climb up alllll the stairs by yourself (even though we’re always inches behind you) and you can Houdini your way out of your highchair straps in a matter of seconds.

Speaking of your highchair, if there’s food — you want it. You want it now, and you want to eat it all by yourself. You still love milk, straight from the source, and even though you’re nursing a lot less than you did when we first got started, when you’re promised some milk, you get so excited you scream and laugh with delight.

You positively love our dogs (“Das!”), Daisy and Jake, and can even say their names (“Dasa” and “Ja”) and think it’s hilarious when they bark (you bark with them “ra-ra-ra-ra-ra!”), or shake, or chase their tails. You used to poke or pull their fur, but now you pet them (sort of) gently, just like mommy and daddy.

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You can say “mama,” “dada,” and you’ve said “hi!” and “uh-oh!” once, and only once. You say a lot of other things that mean nothing to us, but obviously mean something to you. But we’ll figure it out eventually, I’m sure.

You love Mater’s Tall Tales, knocking over blocks, pulling anything off shelves, and pushing your lion walker through the house. You love to crawl away so we chase you, but stop periodically to wave over your shoulder and to make sure we’re following you (otherwise, what’s the point?). You’re obsessed with shoes and empty boxes, and will chew up all the junk mail if I leave it within your grasp. If music is playing, you’re bouncing, dancing, and shaking that booty.

You have crazy, weird hair, that sticks up at odd angles, no matter what I do. You have your Mommy’s dimples, and your Daddy’s toes. You have big, bright, mischievous eyes, but no one can seem to agree what color they are. They’re not blue, or brown, or green. They’re a little bit of everything, and seem to change daily.

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You only have two teeth, but the Internet assures me that’s totally normal, and you can still eat whatever you want, so don’t let all those other kids with all their teeth get you down. You earned those two teeth, and you use them to chomp-chomp-chomp on everything.

You sleep …with us. It wasn’t the plan, it just sort of happened, because mommy was exhausted and you were a cuddlebug. If you’re not snuggled up with one of us, you’re simultaneously pushing both of us out of bed, and taking up the whole king-sized mattress by yourself, which is pretty impressive for someone who’s only two and a half feet tall. But, for the most part, we sleep a lot so I’m not complaining. On more than one occasion, you’ve slapped me in the face, and called me mama (which I always assumed was just an expression) when it was time to wake up.

We waited so, so long for you to get here. This last year (and the years before you were born) were so long in the making, but now, it’s like you’ve always been here. You made our family complete, and it’s almost impossible to remember what life was like before you.

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Happy Birthday, little man! The first year of your life has been the best year of our lives!

Love, Mama and Dada

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7 thoughts on “Dear Gus: One

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