Today you are one month old.

I'm not going to lie: it's been a wild ride, this motherhood thing. I've always appreciated the honesty found on the Internet, and so I'm not going to sugarcoat this month.

It's been a weepy, wet, messy month.

And we all know how I like to control the waters.

No one tells you how messy this all is until it's too late.

But you know? I don't mind. I got over it. I let it all go. And now I'm mostly OK with the mess.

In the middle of all the messiness I look down at you, our eyes meet, and there's nothing else in the room. Not a thing.

This is why they invented hormones.

In one month I've learned how to feed you, and you how to eat. And digest. You're good at digesting.

You can cry. And smile. And you've started to make a few other noises. Just one at a time. Few and far between. But you're getting there.

You hold your head up quite well. And I can get you to stand on the changing table with my support.

You love looking out the window. Or at the window. Just the blinds will do.

We had your hearing checked yesterday since we missed that standard test due to the whole not being born at the hospital thing, and yes, you can hear. So stop pretending you can't.

You've been out to dinner. And lunch. We've all gone to the beach. You met two of your home-birth siblings today, but you slept through it. You sleep through a lot.

I carry you almost all the time. I don't know how to put you down. I don't want to.

You have a birth certificate, but not a social security number. Yesterday I signed paperwork as your legal guardian. How weird is that?

I find it much too entertaining that by dressing you in a shirt with animals on it, people assume you're a boy. Flat out assume.

Since when do giraffes have a gender?

So today you're dressed in brown and blue and I think it suits you quite well, really brings out the blue in your otherwise grey eyes.

You can wear all the pretty princess pony pink you want the day you can dress yourself.

Happy First Monthday, kiddo.

I love you.


For scale