ONE

One year ago today, Asher Michael entered the world.









He came C-section, and the doctors placed bets immediately on how much he would weigh.

They were all way off, with their 9lb, some oz. guesses.

They aimed too low.

Ryan came back from the weighing and measuring, laughing and saying, "you aren't going to believe this."

Then he proudly announced, "10, 10!"

I said, "What do you mean? Ten what?" I was convinced he was joking, or talking about some sort of other measurements I've never heard of. I was delirious, woozy, cold and anxious to meet Asher. He repeated the numbers, explaining that our baby weighed nearly 11 lbs. I was silenced. (That doesn't happen much.)

Then we laughed. And laughed. NO WAY! How did he fit in there? NO WONDER my back hurt so badly this pregnancy!

When we were introduced, I couldn't believe his size and couldn't stop kissing his cheeks. I still can't stop kissing his cheeks.

He started to cry almost right away. To be frank, he really hasn't stopped, he still sits in one place crying out most of the day, frustrated and gassy. The first six months were filled with days and nights of this poor boy screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't sleep, everything I ate effected his pain, and we struggled.

It's funny how a year can go by so slowly and yet so fast. Last night Ryan and I talked about what a blur it has been. So hard. And so great all at the same time.

This year has taught us to think ahead when it comes to hard things. To hold on to the hope that things will get better. We've learned how to ask for help. We've learned to set aside our pride and ask questions. We've learned a lot about good things coming from hard times, and how to have hope despite the daily grind.

Any mother with a "colicky baby" knows exactly what I mean. Sometimes it feels like it will never end, you will never sleep again, and your baby will never stop hurting. Other times you see glimpses of improvement, an hour more sleep here, a quiet meal-time there, less screaming in the car seat... And you begin to believe that you will not have a sixteen-year-old at your table, still vomiting up everything he eats! You start to realize that when your wee one is ten, he won't wake you up just as you start to doze off every hour of the night. At least not every night. And so you persevere, knowing this too really will pass.

As time passed this year, a joyful boy started to appear. A boy so interested in others, he could sit and watch a crowd all day. His curiosity is contagious. One who smiles and laughs just at the sight of a new person. A boy who loves water, balls, being outside, dogs, and mostly food. A lot of food. All the time. He is a perfectly timed maniacal laugh, and a silly shake of the head. He is waving arms and baby jabber. He is a fighter. He is lovely.

There's just something about him that as a mother, I can't describe. (in all my bias and pride.) I'm so glad he came to be ours, 11 lbs., the crying and all. Worth every second.

Happy Birthday, Baby Bop!