And then she was 1....

Four years of infertility treatments. Drugs, shots, surgeries, excruciating pain, mood swings that would scare Lucifer himself back into the Underworld. Tears. Oh, there were so many tears.



And, finally, a phone call. One we had waited and hoped and dreamed for, but, at that point, were sure was never going to come. We were expecting. Due November 6, 2009. And uneventful pregnancy followed, but I managed to complain a lot despite the lack of problems. And on October 28, 2009, my water broke in the doctor's office, and they sent me off to the hospital.



The perky nurse, who I had grown to really like, said, "Congratulations! Your baby will be here soon!"



And I said, "Um...WHAT WAS THAT? I am NOT having a baby, I'm just pregnant."



But off we went to the hospital, and 16 hours later, she was here. Giant cheeks, but the rest of her was pretty tiny. Dark red hair, and looking slightly Asian, for some strange reason.
She went from this tiny newborn To a slightly less-tiny infant with the worst case of cradle cap in the history of ever

"My mom constantly put these flowers on my head, but as soon as I learned to take them off myself, that was O-V-E-R, bitches."



To a six-month-old with a hilarious personality




To this:

A toddler. She literally TODDLES. And runs. Who loves to dance to anything even remotely resembling music. She runs into our arms and hugs us when we squat down on the floor. In the morning, when I pull her out of her crib, she lays her head on my shoulder and pats my arm. She's fiercely independent, pushing your hands out of the way if you try to help her with anything.

She loves the book But Not the Hippopatamus. She carries it around the house saying "Not da! Not da!" and smiles that ridiculously cute smile, the one where she looks like she's just experienced the most amazing thing EVA, whenever we start reciting the words (yes, we do have it memorized).

She loves music, yogurt, and has recently decided to boycott milk AND formula. They are gross, thankyouverymuch.

She thinks the pink Disney princess chair Brian bought her is the most incredible thing ever created. She practices backing into it, bending over to look between her legs if she feels like she might be off target. Every time she manages to make it into the chair, she stretches out her legs and kicks them, looking ever so pleased with herself.

She loves us to the point of insanity. Today, while my mom and I tried to make cupcakes for her birthday party on Saturday, she clung to me, whining and crying the whole day. I was annoyed and exhausted by the end of the day, but I shouldn't have been. I should enjoy it while it lasts. Because, some day much too soon, she will be too busy and far too cool to spend time with me. She will be playing sports or going to dance classes, going to school, where, when I drop her off, she will say, "Ew, Mom, don't kiss me in front of my friends, it's embarrassing." And in that moment, even though I will love the stage she's in, I'll long for the days where she clung to my leg in the kitchen and whined and cried for my attention, but they'll have flown by, just like this past year did. I won't get them back.

So happy birthday to my Lou Lou Belle, my Eliza Lou, my little Munchkin Face. I love you more than you will ever understand (until you have your own babies). I apologize in advance for falling short, but thank you in advance for making me a better person, and for making my entire life worth living.