One-Year-Old Mama

Tomorrow is Greyson's birthday. He will be one year old. This evening, a year ago, Roque and I were having dinner at Rigolo Cafe in Laurel Village not knowing that at 12:13am the next morning, my water would break and we would be swept away. I still remember lying enormous and swollen in bed, joking grumpily to Greyson, "I hope you had a pleasant stay. It's time to check out now. Aloha!" and a minute later "pop!" my water broke. It is a great story and 100% true without an ounce of exaggeration. Roque was sitting at the desk next to me making a phone list of who to call when we got to the hospital. I remember him running around in circles in our bedroom going, "ok ok, now what!!?" while I hollered for him to grab me a towel. Greyson was two weeks early.

Since then, it has been a whole year since I last slept in. A whole year since I last had a thought independent of my son. A year since I've taken a 2 hour nap. A year since I spent an entire day shopping. A year since we've enjoyed a leisurely Sunday lunch. Dinners in restaurants, hours in bookstores, trips at a whim and movies in a theater; all vestiges of a life we used to know. It has been a year of unspeakable joys. I cannot articulate what happens to me inside when I see my son smile at me from his car seat in the rearview mirror, when I heard his squeal of delight when I open his bedroom door in the morning, when I feel his arms cling tight around my neck, when I watch my husband with his son and when I hear Greyson say my new name, "Mama." I am a one-year-old Mama.

Today Greyson had his 12 month doctor's visit. He weighs 25lb 14oz, is 31" long and his head measures 48.3cm. He's in the 85thish percentile for weight and height, and 95th for his head (the Ballesteros gene prevails). He was charming, smiley and cooperative until the doctor had to give him his skin test. At first Roque and I didn't know what was going on. Dr Johnson took a Sharpie marker and started drawing on Greyson's arm. We wondered: was he marking where to give the shot, is that a smiley face, no wait, it has whiskers, why is this man defacing our baby? When he was done where was a little face of a kitty there and he gave Greyson his shot in the middle of it. I think Greyson cried more at having to hold his arm still, than he did the rest of the shots. Since we've been home, Greyson been playing with his tattoo, squealing and rubbing it with his finger. Every time we say, "Mao Mao" (cat in Mandarin), he points to his tattoo and talks to himself. Talk about making a good thing out of an ouchy.