I am kind of sad on Iz’s first birthday.
One year is both a long time and a short time (Not very original. I’m sure many parents have made this observation). Humans, born so helpless in comparison to other animals, change so much in one year. I can only barely remember when Iz couldn’t hold his own head up, when Iz was only a little over five pounds in weight (he is still a pee wee, maybe eighteen pounds). Now he is traveling around on two feet while holding onto furniture and crawling wherever he feels like going (or wherever the dog is). He is such fun to watch.
I do remember the craziness and pain of giving birth, but it is as if I am watching it on TV or in a dream. I am seeing through my own eyes and I know it hurts, but I can’t actually feel it. I never wrote down my labor story – I probably should. (I have been saying that for a year.)
We had a birthday party for Iz. I was tired the whole time. Would I do it all over again? Maybe. Not sure. Iz wanted me the whole time – he wouldn’t let anyone else hold him for long without fussing: he swivels his body away from whomever is holding him, reaches his arms out, and grunts for me. It is not the most elegant sound, but he is clear about his needs and irresistible to his mother. He is not always so mama-needy (though he certainly needs me), but there were more people around than usual (twelve or so?). Good thing Abraham does all the cooking or none of those twelve would have eaten.
It was a perfect day – an April day with 70+ degree weather and no mosquitoes (yet). We set up all sorts of furniture on the back deck and yard (me, a born-and-bred New York City girl, with a back yard – go figure). We even had an outdoor “room” on the grass with an old jute carpet and a wicker couch and chairs. That was the best part.
Iz is (Is Iz?) asleep now. Though we meant to, we didn’t take any pictures. (I think a grandparent did – but this particular grandparent always takes lousy pictures and they rarely include me – does that sound bitter?) There is a video of his first encounter with cake. The encounter was unspectacular. He was more interested in the candle and stabbed the mini-cake a few times with it. Some parents describe head-first dives into the cake. Not Iz.
So why am I sad? I don’t know. Or, rather, I can’t explain.