Tonight my baby girl went to bed clutching a Lego, a doll, and a bottle of milk. Not too different from every other night except that when she wakes up tomorrow, she’ll be one year old.
It was one year ago where I nervously laid on a cot in our delivery room, tweeting updates and reading encouraging text messages from friends and family. From that moment on, it was a series of milestones: First bath, first car ride home, first solid poop, first swim, first time eating solids, first tooth, and first word.
As my wife feverishly bakes cupcakes for my daughter’s first birthday and I load tables, tents and chairs into our car, I think about the way I’ve also changed in the past year. Not milestones per se, but rather unforeseen developments in taste and physicality.
Basically, you start liking what your kids like. Your baby can’t run around at the park yet so you just stay home and change diapers. You feel like the world’s largest a-hole if you feed your baby breakfast with a raging hangover.
I welcome these changes and the many blessing that having a little one brings. However, I look forward to doing more physical activities with her in the future. I can’t afford to go up another t-shirt size.