Dear Henry,

Tonight is the last night of 2011, and you are finally asleep. I understand why you didn’t want to let it go–staying up nearly three hours past your bedtime and fighting with all your might to stay awake. It’s been a very big year, hasn’t it bug? This time last year, your dad and I celebrated in grand fashion, anticipating you and all of the change we thought you might bring. In some ways, we were right about 2011–about you and how you’d teach us things like patience and selflessness and priorities and love (and you’ve done an admirable job). And we were right about how we knew you’d capture our hearts and enhance our family and fill up our days, but there was so much we didn’t know. We pulled into 2011 preoccupied with getting ready for your arrival, and the winter flew by. Before we knew it, the time had come to welcome you, our perfect bundle, into the world.

Somehow, eight months have gone by since then. Eight months. Your birthday is still so clear and poignant to me that I hardly believe it sometimes. Time is flying by so quickly, I’m a little nervous to blink. Each time I turn around you are mastering something new: clapping, high-fiving, waving, giving kisses, drinking from a cup. You army crawl wherever you want to go, pull yourself from sitting to standing, take steps with help and kick a ball when encouraged. You laugh when I make crazy noises and tickle your toes, and you wake up smiling almost every single morning. I look at you a million times a day and wonder, “How did we ever get so lucky, to be entrusted with you?”

As of late, your new faces and antics have those of us around you in stitches. You blow raspberries when you’re frustrated, furrow your brow when you’re focused and clasp your hands together in excitement when anything delights you. Drumming has become a favorite activity, while race cars and trains captivate you wherever we go. Story time is still one of the best times of the day.

Your first Christmas has been epic to say the least–six Christmases in six days, with travel and family dynamics in between. There’s no doubt you understand tissue paper and wrapping paper, ribbons, bows and bags at this stage of the game. You’ve uncovered gift upon generous gift, eyes wide at every turn, taking it all in. As your mama, I could have skipped the presents altogether–the simple joy of watching you in action as you learn and discover has been the highlight of this whirlwind week. Every night as we fall into bed, I thank God for the gift you have been to this family, bringing beauty and life everywhere you land. We couldn’t ask for more…