Heather Anne

Hogan Camden Fitzpatrick,

Yesterday you turned one year old, which is crazy because it seems that just ten minutes ago you were, like, zero.

I’ve got to be honest with you, kid: I’ve spent most of my life thinking babies are entirely overrated. I mean, yes, little clothes and little toes are cute, but the trade off? No sleep, no eats, no free time. Throw no television in there, and I’d rather bite down on a fingernail file and have someone rip it from my teeth than make babies. (Not the euphemism "making babies" – the being responsible for raising a bab— you know what? Nevermind. You’re too young for this train of thought.)

I've just always thought babies are the model of inefficiency.

It’s like those Visa Check Card commercials. You’re in a diner, and everything is moving along magically. Fruity sodas fly through the air; dishes juggle from person to person; pie after pie after pie lands on tray after tray after tray. It’s check card, check card, check card, and then! some wanker! stops to pay with cash. And you know what happens? It shuts down the whole operation.

That’s kind of how it is with babies.

Life is just life-ing along, and then bam! diaper changes. bam! nap schedules. bam! feeding times. One day you’re doing what you want, when you want. The next you’re praying to the Lord that you can just get a ten minute nap. It’s no more magical fruity soda, that’s what it is.

So because I value objectivity and efficiency, I tried really hard to remain unimpressed by you.

Yeah, you were cute with your little brown curls. It’s what babies are.

And yeah, you were adorable when you learned to crawl. It’s what babies do.

And yeah, feety pajamas made me want to eat your toes. It’s what… actually, that’s just weird. Forget I said that.

Everyone in the family fawned over you like you were the first kid to ever make a motorboat noise, or smear food onto your face, or, you know, grow a tooth. But see, you weren’t. All babies do those things.

I felt guilty for thinking you were normal, and to exacerbate the situation, I was in the waiting room at one of your doctor’s appointments when you were only a few months old, and I sort of dropped you on your head.

So to recap: I thought you were just regular. I associated you with a wad of sweaty cash. I dropped you on your head.

What’s that noise you hear? Oh, it’s the sound of the Internet shouting in unison that I am the worst aunt ever.

You started walking recently. Not teetering – full on walking. You also started recognizing me. And, you started saying my name. No, seriously. It’s “Mom” “Dad” “duck” “ball” and “Heather.”

Your mom and I took you to the park last weekend. For a little while you ran around in the field, eating grass. Then you walked right over to me and held out your arms. I pulled you into me and kissed your head. You nuzzled deeper into my neck and just stayed there for a while. Then, you walked over to your mom and did the same thing. You spent half an hour walking back and forth between the two of us, hugging and snuggling us. At one point I started patting you. You grinned, and patted me back.

Maybe normal nephews do that. Maybe you are regular. But the difference between normal nephews and you is that you are mine. And that makes you the best.

I love you, little lamb.

Happy Birthday.