to josephine, on her first birthday

dear bug,

when we met you, you looked like this.

the midwife launched you onto my belly with a wet splat and i was exhausted and exhilarated and instantly in deep, senseless love.  your dad was, too.  we laughed through our tears and looked at each other in amazement and looked at you again.  and again.  we had a daughter.

you’ve grown so fast, changed so much.  it feels like we’ve blinked our eyes and you’ve gone from a tiny, wiggling thing to a girl who laughs, squeals, waves and knows where her head, toes, belly and teeth are.

so many people told us it would all go by so fast; they were right.  and yet, when i try to remember our life before you arrived, i can hardly think back that far, can barely remember who we were then.  maybe it’s the sleep deprivation making my memory fuzzy, but i think more likely it’s because we weren’t complete without you.  and now we are whole.

happy birthday.  i hope it’s the first of a hundred.

i love you,


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