Dear Hannah and Lily: On the occasion of your 1st birthday

I went to my purse at some point around noon to look for my iPod (which in case you don’t know my weird aversion to technology is what I have instead of an iPhone – so it is the object with which I take pictures).  It wasn’t in the pocket of my larger than necessary leather bag.  It hadn’t fallen into the confusing pit of bric a brac.  Basically, I was without an instrument to take pictures.  On a day that is all about taking pictures. 

Your first birthday.

I walked away from my bag slightly disappointed.  Because, really, what else was that day going to be about?  A lot of my family wasn’t there.  Hannah and Lily, you were already dressed in very cute pink and yellow polka dot dresses.  I needed to record the images of you to post on Facebook, right? But… at some point in the steps from the living room where I left my purse dejectedly back to your mother’s kitchen, I decided I was going to record the day with the camera of my vocabulary.

It got me to thinking about first birthdays… because, really, what are they for other than taking pictures of babies who really don’t understand why that day is any different… or likely to remember except maybe through a photograph they look at 37 years later?  I thought of photos of my first birthday… and I can’t remember them.  I think, because, they are actually slides.  I remember images from my second and third birthdays… but nothing of my first.  I asked my dad about it, as I loitered awkwardly with an empty hand.  He didn’t even remember that.  I shrugged and said, well, yeah… probably because everyone partied so hard the month before to commemorate the bicentennial.  Then my dad remembered – he even remembered the pictures he took.  Pictures I remember of Aunt Nettie’s.  My grandfather in his bright orange swimming trunks.  George Edward squeezing my baby head.  My gorgeous Aunt Terry and her dog Baffie.  But my first birthday just kind of blended into that summer.

And really, I don’t mind.  I get as much of the story of 1976 by looking at those July 4^th photos.  Things I would probably speculate at in an August photograph.  How young… how alive… the hairstyles… the clothes… the perfectly captured joy of the day.  The sun that was shining.  How I was the center of attention just for being so new to the world…

Maybe, Hannah and Lily, these details will be unimpressive to you three decades from now.  And certainly there were plenty of i-gadgets snapping shots of you all day.  So you can see those pastel dresses with the white dots and curled ribbon flowers.  I will tell you a few things though to fill in the pixels.

 

When we pulled up in Nana’s car, your mother was taking you for a stroll down the street.  Maybe you did understand it was a special day because you didn’t want to take an appropriate length of nap.  So there she was, long and lean, pushing you down the sidewalk in the sunshine.  Your perfect quiet moment before the crowds descended.

Your father was busy putting up balloons and purple tablecloths when we got out of the car.  Nana filled in the empty flower pots and immediately set about making the front entrance a floral display that would please your great grandmother.  The frenzy of prep seemed to pass pretty quickly… and all of a sudden, I was holding Hannah.  I expected you to cry, as you often do when your mother leaves  your sight.  But you just reached out your arm to all the balloons in a wonder filled ‘ba.’  Lily stayed with Nana, content to soothe her teething gums with the same two fingers her mother used to dent with teeth marks years ago.

We walked about the yard until your Nana Jill came with a car full of cousins.  We set up a blanket on the grass while those boys played with a bat and ball.  There were so many things to look at on that blanket.  All the arriving guests.  And all those balloons that kept dancing in the pleasant breeze.

I felt that itch for the camera again when I looked at your magnificent eyelashes, Lily.  An exquisite canopy to your curious eyes.  Or Hannah when the breeze ruffled your golden mane of hair.  You both wanted to stand.  To take steps and show the world you knew how to pick up one foot and place it ahead of your stance.  It was captivating.

And we were all captivated by you.  You were no different than other babies.  Than all of us were at some point – twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years ago.  That other babies dear to our heart have been.  But with you, it is new again.  Each of those steps is exciting to watch, thrilling to cheer, and so elevating to applaud.

You ate a little with help from your mom and Nana.  Lily, you had your first piece of celery, which was probably impressive merely because it had the stringiness of grass.  But it wasn’t half as exciting (at least to everyone at the party) as that first piece of cake.  Actually, Lily, you were pretty underwhelmed by chocolate.  It was more interesting to give the pieces to your parents who eclipsed the row of cameras and iPads and IPhones trying to get the best frozen image.  Hannah, you gripped that white cake with as much delight in its crumbly mushiness… that could spread all over your fingers and chin and cheeks.  Lots of smiles… though I suspect you know what a camera is now and understand the art of being a ham.  You got a piece of the chocolate, but didn’t need to add it to the artwork on your cheeks.  You gave it to your mother and smiled as you met her eyes.

I disappeared for a bit, helping your Nana bring in the food.  Because, as you may come to know, I am her daughter in that respect.  Cleaning up during and after the party is very important.  But not too important to not come find you in the quiet moment at the end in your living room.

Hannah fell asleep on a very happy Aunt Kristen’s shoulder.  Lily stood amongst your toy collection, happy whenever your sheep fell into view and over the moon when the Beethoven dog puppet caught your eye.  Your favorite thing is to share him.  Your smile is so very big when you give that furry toy to someone else.

Hannah, you did not want to stay in your crib.  You came back downstairs to do your own standing and playing.  You did give away that tiredness when you found your thumb and hand… but you were smiling as we walked back down the steps to Nana’s car.

I paid attention mostly to you, taking snapshots of your moments.  But I suspect you would look through these photos to see who was there smiling and eating along with you.  Your grandparents – all of them – were so happy.  So very, very, very happy to hold you.  To watch you.  You don’t know the joy that just leaks from their eyes when they watch you.  It’s funny, I didn’t recognize that expression in my own grandparents until I saw it in my parents looking at you.  They love you.  So very much.  

Your father’s students were there.  A whole row of young musicians who admire Mr. Bernice.  I suspect you have a posse of big brothers there.  They adore you and were snapping up pictures just like everyone else.

Friends from your church.  Their children.  Stephanie, Shiloh, and Micah… the family of your home.  So much love.  So many people happy to be there to watch you, to snap your photographs.  To just be there on your day.

Including your aunt.

I love you.