Happy Birthday Naomi

Naomi I'm blown away by the super Episcopalian, super jet setter, super boring first year you've had.

You travelled a lot.

We went to Columbus, Ohio in June for The General Convention of the Episcopal Church where we saw history being made (well you slept through it and I photographed it and spazzed out about it) and made a little of our own.

We went to our new Presiding Bishop's Installation (and received communion from her) and her Seating and later that month had the honor of meeting her in person (covered in vomit).

You learned so many things. Like how to pick your nose. How to say bye bye and hi. You started laughing and now laugh all the time. You've got a host of inside jokes girl and I hope they keep cracking your ass up.

You slept every once in a while. I think you started sleeping through the night (in our closet of all places) around the time you were 3 months (and don't believe the hype, Noami, mom's who don't write down every milestone and/or remember it are still decent-to-average moms from time to time). You slept through the night for a little while. We even moved your bed into the room with Eliot and you shared a room for a few nights. Eliot sure was excited those mornings to see baby Naomi there.

I spent most of your life so far worried that if you cried in the night you'd wake your dad. Silly. Silly. Stupid. Ill informed me.

I've spent most of your life barely holding back the drool I've been so tired. I hope someday to introduce you to the formerly energetic and generally happy and content me there once was. She showered on a regular basis, brushed her teeth and was able to focus on things and remember words. Well. At least I think she did. I don't remember. Wait. What was I talking about?

When you were exactly 11 months old we found out that Eliot is carrying the leukemia we all now have in a way. At the ripe age of 11 months you become a survivor. I pray. I pray. I pray that you'll make it through this a kid who felt loved and parented and as equally disciplined as your brother. Sometimes I'm afraid you're going to grow up and feel you had 2 super needy older siblings. Sometimes I'm sure you're going to grow up one of those wise, compassionate people who is so confident they intimidate people and so sure that its not all about her that you never get hung up on bull shit ego crap.

The good news is no one knows any of that right now and all we can do is keep moving one minute at a time. And man, girl, you're really great at that.

So far we think we know a few things about you. You're very hands on. You enjoy playing in the toilet and the diaper pail. You grab hair and faces and glasses. You're just about the spunkiest kid your Dad and I have ever seen. Wait. You are the spunkiest kid we've ever seen.

When you and I were in the hospital together when you were born even the nurses there in the ward mentioned that you scream louder than the average 1 day old. One said to me, 'watch out mom.'

You're a spit fire. You're a bad ass. You're super sweet.

You have David Letterman-eque teeth up front and center.

Your flat butt (I'm sorry, I'm sorry you got that one from me) can't hold diapers up.

You're starting to walk.

You're drinking cows milk and mama's milk.

You love all orange food.

You love your brother.

You love to goof around on the couch.

I love you.