I don't know how soon you're going to wake up - naps are precious, and as happens too often, you've already stirred once - so I must be quick. I've been carrying around a lot of guilt, and I am feeling the need to absolve myself of some of it. I feel awful that I haven't been writing more; I have so much to say to you, and so many stories to tell, but so little time and energy. Actually, sometimes I do have the time - rarely, but sometimes - and I occasionally have enough energy to do something more than just lie around and watch terrible television, but I just can't motivate myself. Sleep deprivation is surely partly to blame...right?
This year...oh, man. Your Dad and I have been catching ourselves and going "holy crap..." every now and then. We've been parents for a whole year, and that is just surreal. You're huge, and I can say that with clinical certainty; you hit the 90th percentile for weight, which is just bananas for a kid who dropped down to the 5th percentile for a while there. You have these amazing little curly tendrils next to your ears, and a rapidly thickening head of gorgeous blonde hair. You've got five stabbity little teeth, and basically the most amazing smile I've ever seen on anyone, anywhere, ever. Just perfect. You give hugs on command, and wet, awkward, incredible open-mouth kisses. You snuggle our cat - perhaps, now your cat -Tanuki like nobody's business, and he genuinely seems happy to let you.
Still, I wait for naps with bated breath, and sometimes nearly find myself in tears with excitement when it seems like you might really be asleep for the night. I have to stop feeling guilty for needing breaks; you are exhausting, even (especially) when you are being adorable and affectionate. You've started doing this cool thing when you get hyper-excited and scramble frantically to hug someone - usually your Dad - while I am pretending to chase you. It's okay to be tired, and it's okay to just be lazy sometimes.
Parenthood, so far, has been a series of compromises. I didn't get to have the birth I wanted, or the first days and weeks with you that I wanted, or...well, it seems moot to complain any more. You know how things went down. I'm proud that I've never blamed you - not even a little, and I've never blamed your Dad or even myself for the general crappiness that happened during our first year together. Even still, I carry around a lot of guilt for the fact that your Dad and I didn't get to do so many of the fun and arguably normal lovely things that people typically do in their first year of marriage. Yes, we were home for our first anniversary, and we were able to go out and enjoy ourselves for a night, but we basically spent the whole year entirely focused on you. Again, no blame is being cast - none - but I do beat myself up more than I should for the fact that we didn't get to celebrate ourselves and each other the way we should. I need to get over it.
I'm feeling whiny, which I guess I ought not feel guilty about either. I don't want to be one of those crazy, jerky types who just lets herself revel in her guilt, but I do feel like I need to accept it as a way of moving on. I need to accept that I'm taking a break from writing for a little while, and that I am no less dedicated or loving a parent, wife, or human being for that matter by doing so. This afternoon, I realized while we were playing with play-dough that I had made a giant, yellow wang and you were poking the tip curiously. Let me sum up by saying that there is no cause for guilt for lack of being able to laugh at myself.