I'm in denial that Baby will be one tomorrow. For whatever reason, I find it hard to believe that it was one year ago that I was suffering from contractions and multiple insertions of an epidural...and then holding that squirming, screaming baby of mine. Maybe I don't want him to grow up. Maybe that's it. Or maybe I'm just stressing about his party (likely, but probably has nothing to do with this). I think that when he's one, I feel like he won't be a baby anymore. He'll be a little boy. A toddler. Not a baby who likes to cuddle with his mommy, and fall asleep on her chest (oh, how I loved when he would do that when he was itty-bitty). Part of me wishes he could stay a baby forever, but part of me is very excited for this next year, to see what kind of a little boy he will become. Will he be fearless? Will he be shy? Will he be an adventure-seeker? Will he be creative? At the same time, I know it will be a tough year, as he tries to assert his independence, and I try to teach him boundaries and rules. I think I'm just being a mommy, who wants to protect her baby as long as possible. It's pretty hard to protect Baby these days, between the scaling of anything he can climb, toddling around whenever he feels like it, and crawling faster than I've seen some people jog. I guess maybe I'll have to come up with a new nickname for Baby...maybe Toddler...or Little Boy..those are pathetic, I have to do better than that. So, off I go, to brainstorm on a new name, and to try to enjoy Baby's last real day of babyhood.