On January 13, 2011, I sat across from my husband in a Le Pain Quotidien on the Upper East Side eating a yogurt and granola parfait and waiting for the wizards at our fertility clinic to finish doing whatever voodoo they do to the samples before show time. LG looked at me and said, "This is going to work. This is going to be the one that works." He looked tense and sounded like he wanted to believe the words more than actually did believe them. I smiled a little and didn't respond.
Later that night--as LG likes to remind me--we tried to make some magic of our own at home, or at least some insurance in case the nurse's aim was off that morning. And at some point that day, this amazing, sweet, adorable, dome-headed, twitchy-legged, smiley, perfect little boy was made.
I think about the last year of Smudgie's existence and marvel that he has grown from a couple of teeny tiny little gametes to the warm, cuddly weight that curls against my neck when I hold him in my arms. I think about the girl I was on that day last year--sad, worried, afraid to hope, but determined--and can hardly believe that today she's a mother. A mother who, whatever frustrations and irritations she has to handle, is happy right deep down to her core.
Happy one year of being in this world, my sweet son. You have made it glow brighter than I ever thought possible, and I love you.
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