Gus

Dear Molly,

Your first birthday came and went in January – a transient shimmer that lit up an otherwise gray winter – and, like the rock star mama I am, I never wrote about it. Or rather, about you. The truth is that I’ve written about things like your second child status and your love for all things elephant but I’ve never written about you (well, except for this one time), which is a shame because you are indeed something worth writing about. Anyone toting the nickname Gus (or Goober, depending on the day) is worth more than a few accolades. So … let the well-earned praises commence.

When you were born, I finally exhaled. I didn’t even know I’d been holding my breath but, boy, when you entered this world it became wildly apparent. Fresh air. You were the fresh air I’d all been waiting for and even now, one crazy year later, I’m still enamored with the way your beautiful grin rejuvenates me. Your deep contagious laugh is a song of lighthearted wisdom, of truth that transcends trivial concerns and embraces reality for the comedic ride it is. When I hear you, Molly, I hear Buddha.

I’ve never met anyone as hilarious and goofy as you. Who knew so much spunk could be crammed into one tiny tot (and don’t even get me started on that oh-so-kissable bald head of yours)? You have my knack for making messes and your daddy’s knack for making people laugh – a lovely combination that makes every day a new adventure. Just yesterday you climbed on top of the toy box (after taking everything out of it) and quickly discovered that, despite the lovely view from up there, you couldn’t get back down. I surrendered my Mother of the Year award when, instead of helping you, I decided to videotape the endearing predicament. (Someday, Goober, when you have kids of your own, you’ll understand the importance of such sacrifices.)

Also, food. I cannot possibly talk about you without mentioning your unrivaled devotion to ALL THE FOOD, which began the day you were born and hasn’t let up since. You’re an equal opportunity eater, consuming everything from avocados and broccoli to peas and brussel sprouts. Heck, even things that aren’t edible somehow find their way into your mouth (lest we forget the gravel incident, right?).

Like your sister, you are oodles of smart. What one-year-old has “cupcake” in their repertoire of first words? (One with a big ol’ brain and an obsession with food, that’s who.) Last month your creative, artsy side came barreling out, making its grand debut in brag-worthy dance moves and, er, abstractly colored pictures. You’re never as content as when you’re clutching a half-eaten crayon in your soft chubby hand and that, like so many other wonderful things about you, makes me smile.

I love you, Miss Molly, more than I could ever adequately put into words. Thank you for being our light, our laughter, our joy. Thank you for being our Gus.

Love … Mommy