(All disclaimers in chapter 1...)
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9-5-76 9:38PM
Yes, I'm at it again.
Oh, don't give me that look. In the 60's they told us all to find ourselves, figure out who we are, what makes us tick--turns out I'm sort of sentimental. So sue me.
No, don't sue me, you'd lose; my wife's a lawyer.
So you're a year old today. And let me tell you, kid, you're perfect. Really, you are. Even if you do have my nose. You're not really talking much yet, not where we can understand you, but you like to make yourself heard, and it's fun to listen to you babble. You like to move, maybe even more than your brother did at this age, so we have to be really careful not to lose track of you at any given time; you crawl, you scoot, you scramble, you scamper, and soon you'll be walking without help, and then running.
This entry will be short because you already take up a lot of energy. I'm standing over your crib, thinking that it won't be long before you won't need it anymore, and I feel torn between going to bed myself and sleeping off the excitement of your first birthday, and standing here for the rest of the night watching my heart sleep on that hard little mattress. You're safe, you're healthy, you're happy, but I wouldn't call your sleep peaceful; a freight train could run through your room at night and not disturb you, but there's just something so naturally... kinetic about you. You and your brother both have an innate energy, but yours is different than his--when he moves, he has a direction, a purpose, a vector; you move just to move, to occupy a new space, to experience every little bit of air and shadow and light. Just watching you wears me out, and at the same time you make me want to move with you, to go where you go, to see what you see.
I find myself wondering more and more these days what's going on behind those eyes of yours, especially when I see that spark there that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, your moving has more direction than I can see. There was this famous scientist who said he always wanted to take a ride on a sunbeam; I want to be there to ride the light with you.
You're moving even now. I can see one little leg flexing and kicking, like you're trying to wheel yourself around to something. I just put my hand down there, and let you kick my fingers a few times; you even wrapped your toes around my little finger and pushed a couple of times. That seemed to calm you down a little bit, and you settled down even more when I laid my hand on your tummy, but I still wonder what you're dreaming about. Maybe someday soon you'll tell me.
You, my child, are amazing. I can't wait to see where you go.
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