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Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Simply Sustainable
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Thursday, March 12, 2015
One Year
One year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty five days. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours. Five hundred and twenty five thousand and six hundred minutes.
One year.
Millions of tiny moments intertwined in this mesh of time we give a simple name to. When life begins, time seems to start a never-ending marathon. A race that can't be paused or stopped. A race that hurries faster with each new sunrise.
One year.
No amount of time, books, or advice would have ever prepared me for the day Zaylen entered the world.
That was the first time I ever felt the power of pure, unconditional, intimate love.
One year.
This past year has been the most amazing, terrifying, joyous, scary, humble experience of my life. I don't know what happened in the last three hundred and sixty five days, but I can replay every sweet moment that filled them.
Those millions of moments. Moments of happiness. Moments of fear.
The first smile, roll, crawl, step, word, laugh are all part of those moments.
The boo-boo's, scratches, accidents, messes all join in as well.
The victories, excitements, and celebrations are my favorite.
The days of being able to rock him to sleep are over. He doesn't need my help getting from room to room. I don't have to hold onto him anymore when he stands up in the tub. He desires to feed himself now. Those precious moments of infant-hood have come and gone, too quickly.
Now I am faced with finding out where he got the marker from. I have to put my legs over his arms so I can change his diaper. He thinks I should put the kitchen cabinets back together several times a day.
That year, that one simple year is gone.
I watched a dependent baby develop and grow into an independent toddler. I sacrificed sleep and sanity, I cleaned too much up, I gave up friends and grew more gray hair. I became a mother. Zaylen shaped me into the woman and mother I had wanted to be for so long.
That one year changed our lives forever.
The first year of life is nothing short of a miracle. It's the most perfect season of growth. It's an incredible journey to experience.
One year.
One year.
Millions of tiny moments intertwined in this mesh of time we give a simple name to. When life begins, time seems to start a never-ending marathon. A race that can't be paused or stopped. A race that hurries faster with each new sunrise.
One year.
No amount of time, books, or advice would have ever prepared me for the day Zaylen entered the world.
That was the first time I ever felt the power of pure, unconditional, intimate love.
One year.
This past year has been the most amazing, terrifying, joyous, scary, humble experience of my life. I don't know what happened in the last three hundred and sixty five days, but I can replay every sweet moment that filled them.
Those millions of moments. Moments of happiness. Moments of fear.
The first smile, roll, crawl, step, word, laugh are all part of those moments.
The boo-boo's, scratches, accidents, messes all join in as well.
The victories, excitements, and celebrations are my favorite.
The days of being able to rock him to sleep are over. He doesn't need my help getting from room to room. I don't have to hold onto him anymore when he stands up in the tub. He desires to feed himself now. Those precious moments of infant-hood have come and gone, too quickly.
Now I am faced with finding out where he got the marker from. I have to put my legs over his arms so I can change his diaper. He thinks I should put the kitchen cabinets back together several times a day.
That year, that one simple year is gone.
I watched a dependent baby develop and grow into an independent toddler. I sacrificed sleep and sanity, I cleaned too much up, I gave up friends and grew more gray hair. I became a mother. Zaylen shaped me into the woman and mother I had wanted to be for so long.
That one year changed our lives forever.
The first year of life is nothing short of a miracle. It's the most perfect season of growth. It's an incredible journey to experience.
One year.
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