How do you measure a year?

The first night after Max’s birth I didn’t want to put him in the plastic box bed. It seemed too hard, too cold for one’s first night on earth. He did spend some time there but he also spent a lot of time in our arms, causing little sleep to take place. 

I love that memory. Of him wrapped up in my arms, so small with that quick heartbeat.

He is no longer that itty bitty baby wrapped up. He moves with lightening speed now but he still likes a good cuddle.

This year has been measured not so much in minutes, but in giggles, the pitter-patter of feet, drool (lots and lots of drool), four teeth, digested woodchips, purees, chubby legs, sleepy or shy snuggles, blue eyes and the sweetest of memories.

It’s been a good year.