My favorite little guy is now a big 1 year old. It has been a remarkable experience to watch him learn and grow, and I have changed a lot for it.
I know those of you who still read this blog can't fault me for not posting more regularly, or for giving up my more pensive or nature-inspired posts for the mundane posts of a mommy-blog. Between work, business trips, and now many appointments for Atticus, I hardly have the time. I would love to write more about the observations I make when I'm with him, or how motherhood has permanently changed me, but recording all these thoughts and moments seems like a low priority when I have only a few hours every day to be with him. Living life versus recording life: When you're forced to choose between the two, can there be much of a debate? And life beyond work and motherhood? It doesn't really exist anymore. Or rather, it's gone into hibernation.
So instead while you read this, imagine that I say something about how this last year has gone by so fast and yet so slow. How receiving his catastrophic epilepsy diagnosis 4 months ago has altered the path we were on. How I realize that nothing is precious that isn't scarce or easy to lose, and that this diagnosis has made every moment with Atticus tender.
I might mention how difficult it can be to be up with him 3-4 times a night, but how sleep training is hard to do when seizures also come most frequently at night and you can hardly leave him alone, no matter how many weeks since his last seizure. I would also mention how wonderful it is that we have a reason to hope that he will make a full recovery, that he can be a "normal" kid if we work hard and those seizures--the part we can't command--will stay in control, but also realizing the gravity and urgency of his issues and the necessity to take it all seriously.
And then, knowing all this, you might be able to see why my heart almost burst with joy when he signed his first word, water/drink, four times in a row at dinner a couple of weeks ago, just because he's realizing he can talk to us and that we'll understand him. Or the exhilaration last night when he took eight steps in a row, or to have him laugh and squeal at the animal noises when reading Barnyard Dance. We laugh a lot at our house. It's a joyful house, even if it's a vigilant one.
And so Atticus is growing up and showing me who he is. I know I should leave Atticus to be whatever he wants to be, but to me, he feels like a healer. Not necessarily in a scientific sort of way, but in a spiritual sort of way. Who knows. Maybe he's here to teach us and heal us. To show us that nothing can be taken for granted. That every step should be celebrated. That there's so much to do today, there's really no need to spend all this time worrying about tomorrow. If this is his message, I hope I'm getting it.
And at last, this video. No, nothing really cool happens in it. But it has been 1 year since his grandma sang it to him, and he certainly is a lucky, lucky boy!
