One Year of You

Last night I cried.

Not happy tears.

Not sad tears.

But something in between.

This morning, when we woke up,

you had turned one year.

Daddy and I put up the banner,

we put up some photos too.

I just can’t quite believe it,

my baby, she is one.

I’m happy, of course, 

how couldn’t I be?

But there’s something inside that

stings.

Bringing you home for the first time,

a dark and rainy night.

Surely, that wasn’t a year ago?

Surely, that can’t be right?

A year.

Going to your Bloom classes

and going to the zoo

and watching Toy Story

and the dancing fruits too.

You’re learning every day,

like how to clap

and how to stand

and how to make Daddy boop your nose

just one more time.

You splash in the bath

kick, kick, kick.

Then into a sleepsuit,

so cosy and sweet.

I love reading you a story,

maybe Paddington?

He’s your favourite.

Bedtime milk is a must.

When your eyes are heavy

but you’re fighting your sleep,

I stroke your little eyebrow,

blink… bl in k… b l i n k.

One year of being your mummy.

One year of you being my baby.

One year of wishing time would slow.

Even just a little bit.

Thank you for this year,

what a rollercoaster it’s been.

Happy birthday little darling.

I love you.

So much, so much, so much.