Moose turns 1

Dear Ilan,

You turned one today, and more and more I find myself thinking of all the things I'd done for Roan by this age that I've never done for you.  Like mommy-and-me swim lessons.  Certainly those are a total waste of money and time spent in a bathing suit, but still, you would love them.  I've never made you a smoothie.  Not a single one.  I've never finger painted with you, or taken your handprints.  You've never been to the zoo, or the children's museum.

I've had exactly one playdate for you.  It was with two other babies in the neighborhood, the moms were both first time mothers.  I had a hard time relating to them.  All the things they talked about were things I didn't spend any time on, though I could remember overthinking all those same issues with Roan.  We had an extended conversation about weaning.  "How did it go?  Which feedings did you cut first? How did he react?  How did you feel?"  The questions seemed earnest and absurd.  I just stopped breast feeding you, and that was that.

Sometimes I get caught up on all the experiences I haven't given you, all the places I haven't taken you.  But you have Roan.

We turn boxes into trains and you sit inside them and Roan pulls you around the house until the boxes break, picking up toys and distributing them everywhere you go.  You "push" Roan around in your walker. You two play in the bath for what feels like hours, complicated splashing games that I don't understand.  You have huge matching dump trucks that you race around the room and bash into each other and and the walls and laugh and laugh.  At mealtimes you take turns putting your feet on the table, waiting for me to notice and scold.

There is a game you both love that I call The Wheelbarrow - Roan grabs your foot and drags you around the room backwards, you slide along your belly and sometimes on your face.  Occasionally he slingshots you across the room.  I hate this game and always put a stop to it, and when I do, both you and Roan give me identical guilty looks.  You both know The Wheelbarrow is forbidden.  It usually ends with you getting hurt. Yet I've seen you scooting backwards on your belly, offering Roan your foot, instigating.

I've realized: I may not be the same person for you as I am for Roan.  My parenting strategy has shifted.  I remember with Roan rushing from one activity to the next, not even taking time to clean up the messes we made because isn't it amazing how much fun Ro is having and yes let's totally switch gears from spin art to playdough, never mind that there are flecks of paint drying all over the chairs, who has time to clean?

I don't feel that way anymore.  I've made a rule that we have to clean up one activity before starting another one, and by the time we're done cleaning, you guys have usually forgotten about the new activity and wandered off to play the Wheelbarrow game on the sly.

Today, on your birthday, you refused to take your morning nap.  You were in good spirits, and we shopped for ingredients to make your birthday cake.  The plan was for you to nap in the afternoon and Ro and I would make the cake.  But you didn't take that nap either, so I put you in the Ergo so you could help.  Eli, one of Roan's friends, came over to help too.  With all this help, the cake took forever to make.

When it was finally done, we had a vanilla cake with raspberry, green creme cheese frosting, and raspberry and sprinkle toppings.  It actually tasted pretty good.  I made everyone smoothies, and then, after two more friends arrived, we lit the candle and sang happy birthday.  Roan opened your presents for you, and played with them for you too.  You were too delighted with the cake to care.

Sad face - I scooted the cake away from you

Eating a raspberry off your thumb