So says AA Milne, but at one Wil is so much more than just begun.
D and I were reminiscing about Amy's first birthday today. How proud we had been that we'd managed to keep her alive. We had no idea of what was coming, of how much longer we'd struggle to get on top of the parenting gig, of how much more she would grow and develop.
Babes in the wood we were.
So it is a great luxury to get the experience of Wil with a little bit of learning under our belts. For the unimportant stuff to have already melted away, for the really hard stuff to have already been burned away. It feels very much like when there's just Wil and me, there's just Wil and me.
I love him so very much.
There was a long time there where I didn't think I could face a second child, when I didn't think I was strong enough to endure another physically exhausting pregnancy, another sleepless infancy, another loss of my self. For a while D and I would talk about it in alternating frustrated and mournful tones. Gradually the fear grew less and the excitement grew more.
And then one day, as I was standing at the kitchen bench engaged in some mindless domestic task I heard the key in the lock. I looked up to see D stroll in and then came Amy. And then I realised I was still looking at the door. And in my mind I knew I was waiting for the other one. The one that wasn't here yet, but the one I knew was coming.
I think back to that moment often. I remember it, the feeling of it even, as vividly as any event that happened today. In just a little flash of a moment, a moment that makes no sense in the real world I inhabit, I knew there would be another child.
That's really weird isn't it?
At the time I felt it was a highly unusual experience, not like anything else I'd ever felt and looking back now it's like there was a little hand reaching across time to me. Leaving a little imprint, spurring me on to get over my fear and promising that everything would be alright.
And he's kept that promise. No matter what is going on with him, I pretty much always feel like everything will be alright.
So I celebrate his first birthday, not just happy he's made it this far.
Happy for his straightforwardness.
Happy for his curiosity.
Happy for his independence.
Happy birthday my boy.
PS. We'd all be much better off if you'd fast track learning about not hitting your head. I'm sure you'll learn eventually but I'm concerned about those diminishing brain cells honey.