On Meera's first birthday

My little baby is one. Not 11 months, not 12 months; one. Really, she's just a day older than she was yesterday, but some how one is different.  She's gone from being our baby, to becoming our little girl.

I was driving into New York on Wednesday before her birthday on business.  Cruising along with the thousands of other cars, the road was quiet and each of us sped quickly to our destinations - maybe the city, maybe somewhere in New Jersey, maybe beyond.  All commuting in and probably back again.  And I sensed myself becoming the person I would need to be when I went in for my meeting, and I suspect that each person I passed did almost the same thing. I could see it in their faces, a little alone time before they had to be what they do everyday.  A little glimpse of who they are when they are not someone else. 

There are glimpses that I catch from time to time of her as an infant, and snapshots of who I think she will be as a young lady, and each can be even sweeter than the moment in which I notice. I see her wonderful mother in her more and more, and I see her beautiful self emerging everyday. I pick her up, cuddle her and hear a squeal of delight. She is precious.

I distinctly and acutely sense theses passages: of time of self, of who we are and need to be. And feel that we are all slipping through through the water without realizing it, letting our selves be washed over by where we need to be and who we need to become. It's both difficult and joyous. Losing time is part of life, and not really a bad thing, but it's bitter sweet.  Being able to look back and see where we are is a true gift, even if, when you are watching your baby grow, it often makes you long for time to stop.  

But, being able to relish in the tiny moments of connecting to another person and seeing them for who they really are is a treasure.  And when we can take a moment to wash off the world, be given the privilege of dipping our toe into another's personal pool and revel in their aliveness, it's something beyond important, it's what makes us all human.

So, when I see my little Meera turn one, with her hands mashed in the cake, with pushing her little cart around with her kitty and balloon, or when I watch her screaming in joy as she plays with her brothers, I am seeing who she is now.  When I see her sleeping when we check on her every night, I see her at 8 days, at 3 months, 9 months. I see her on the warming table in the hospital, still a little bloody, her umbilical clipped and when I put my hand gently on her chest, she stops crying for just a moment.

And when I pick up all 25 pounds of her to my shoulder and her legs kick-kicky-kick and arms wavy, and she smiles big, and I tilt her back, look her in the face and she giggles with joy and bubbles, I see her at 5, at 10, at 30. 

And right there, that's it. It's that instant. It's who she is, who she has been and who she will be. It's that moment that I am in her pool with her. 

It's right then I hope all along the way, that I will  remember this moment. That I can lock it away in my minds eye forever. That when I send her to school for the first time, or she has her first heartbreak or when she graduates, that I will hold  this moment and recall all those little glimpses of her life.  And while I know I can't; not really, and although I am excited for every glimpse I get as she continues to become, I still try.

Because right now, when she is one plus a day, the beautiful birthday party Heather did is done, and the cake is gone, all the kids are asleep and we are at our computers, Meera is fast becoming our little girl. And as each moment washes away into the past, I look forward being in the next one.

Happy first birthday Meera Grace!