Hello, Pushkin

For a while now, I've been thinking about how to say goodbye.

I started this blog as a record of Mae's first year, and -- incredibly enough -- it's over, and then some. She'll be 14 months old in a few days. Where did the time go? How did she morph from a squiggly, squinty, babylump into a full-fledged look-at-me-go toddler? I barely missed a minute, but it's still a total mystery. All I can think is that I'm glad we took photos, and I'm glad I wrote things down, because her babyhood already feels like a dream I've woken up from.

Last Friday, we went back to Mom and Tot class (the same one we went to last year, where Mae used to fall asleep on the mat every week amid the chaos). This year, everything is different though. This year, she's the big fish in the little pond. She tramps around, picking out toys and exploring, then goes over to peer at the little babies on the mat. She doesn't look at them for long though. She's a busy kid. She's got stuff to do. I don't blame her, either. I personally can't get over how boring those little babies are. And, if I hadn't been in their place this time last year, I'd be miffed at how their parents manage to just sit there, staring at them.

When I was pregnant, I had this naive idea that Mae would be born, and then I'd know her. What I've discovered, though, is that the first year (and beyond) is more like watching a Polaroid picture develop. She's still the same fairly-mellow, mostly-easy-to-please person whose shadowy outlines we started to know as an infant, but the colours are so much brighter now. So much richer.

I know so much more about her... She loves cheese and carrots and ravioli. She likes climbing things, opening and closing doors, turning on taps and going to the sandbox. She's shy and cautious in big groups, clinging to my leg and climbing into my lap until she knows it's safe. She likes to spin around until she gets dizzy, then fall down, then stand up and do it again. She's good at entertaining herself; this afternoon, she played quietly for fifteen minutes with four potatoes, a Tupperwear and a bath sponge. She laughs all the time. She smacks her lips in little air kisses. She takes off in hot pursuit of kitties and whacks them lovingly. She wants to read and read and read.

She's so much and so good, I couldn't possibly begin to capture it in words. She's changed everything about our lives already, and she's still only getting started.