Oh, baby girl. One year. Holy cow. All year I’ve been solid, posting right on your monthly birthday. And today, the ACTUAL Birth Day, and I crawl into bed a happy woman, only to spring back up a minute later, realizing that I chased you around with the camera all day but never wrote your birthday post! Well, it’s not midnight yet! Happy birthday, Junebug!

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Your are getting so hard to photograph! Notice, every shot here either involves an out-of-focus object I’m hiding behind or another person or toy distracting you! Otherwise, you are a blur making a beeline for mama’s lens. An adorable blur, in any case.

When you are happy, you are very happy, but when you are sad you are SO sad. The other night we were over at a neighbor’s watching the soccer game; for no apparent reason you suddenly knelt, lay your head on the floor (butt pointing heavenward) and cried. You just gave up on life. And today, with Gigi and Papa here, you spent most of the evening with your lower lip sticking out so far I thought it would have given you a jaw-ache. To be fair, you suffered through no fewer than FOUR immunizations on your very birthday. Not fair, world.

But most of the time, you are busy enjoying life. Today at Target, we found maracas and a tambourine in the party favor aisle. You handed me a maraca, and I did the shaking while you did the jingling, and I’m pretty sure it was the best thing that ever happened to you. You still love to climb and descend the stairs, and you always take a break at the landing to rattle the loose railing and drum on the hollow part of the floor. Other exciting things in life are: boxes, cans, and bottles, iPhones and crinkly wrappers, dogs (of course), the martini shaker, anything with wheels, and anything that you can take out of or put into any larger thing. It really doesn’t take much to please you. Oh, and those bubblers at the park designed for kids to sit on them so they can lean over and reach the water. Those are amazing.

I’m enjoying being home with you full time now; we’re refining our daily rhythm. You sleep through the night but are ready for the day by 5am, at which point I bring you into bed with me and try to coax a half hour or so more sleep out of you. You’ve figured out how to shimmy out of the bed so you can play with the nightstand drawers, but make sure to first hand me my glasses, having learned that I pay more attention to you when they’re on. But when you really want my ass out of bed, you just head for the stairs. Done; awake.

No signs of walking, talking, or more teeth on the immediate horizon. But you’ll get there. I think you’re saving it all up for one very impressive show.

Tomorrow is your birthday party. Grandma and Grandpa will come up, your dad will cook a ridiculous amount of paella over an open fire, friends and family will overwhelm you, and you’ll have your own little tart to enjoy while basically naked, for once free of that awful bib that you love to rip off. We did a practice run last night. Chad brought over a projector, the menfolk hopeful of watching the world cup while attending to their manly fire duties. Unfortunately, it was a little too bright, even in the shade. You did your best to get them to play with you, and then attempted to destroy the projector while they talked soccer. Smart girl.

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The actual party should be pretty great (pointy hat photos soon to come.) Yeah, I bought every stupid paper party item I could get my little first-time-mom hands on.

I love you so much, little girl. Thanks for an amazing year.

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