Happy Birthday, Puttachi!

My sweet Puttachi,

Happy Birthday to you!

I did not believe in miracles, Puttachi, but you made me realize that there are miracles occuring all around us all the time. The development of a child from a single cell, the birth of a baby, and the growth of the baby from a fragile infant into a mobile, communicating, cognitive individual is nothing short of a miracle. The whole process can be beautifully explained by science, I know. But the feel of the whole thing is that of a miracle. And only when you experience it first hand do you realize what it is like.

It seems like just last week that you made your appearance, a little baby with a red crunched up face, and a huge yawn. It seems like yesterday that I exulted at your rolling over, marvelled at how you crawled, and watched with bated breath as you took your first steps. This year has flown by, the fastest ever. And this has been one of the best years of my life. Easily.

I had been forewarned about how not to expect my baby to be born a perfect cherub, and that a new born baby is rather ugly. But I never felt that way. Your little red face, and tiny fingers and toes were beautiful to my eyes. I thought you were a total angel. Now, when I look back on the snaps of those first few days, I marvel at how much like an alien you were, but back then, I just thought you were beautiful. And I think you just grow more wonderful each day.

I watch you play, Puttachi, your hands busy, your eyes narrowed in concentration. And then your eyes light up suddenly and look at me with a smile to share your discovery. And then you spot something you know is forbidden, and give me that sideways glance, dimple flashing, teeth showing, and your eyes full of mischief, and I swoop down and take you away, flying you through the air, doing a "Supergirl".

I watch you walk, Puttachi, confidently stepping over obstacles and crossing thresholds, carrying heavy objects in your hand, striding from room to room as if you have very important business, climbing sofas, getting down stairs - you are already on your own now!

I watch you eat, Puttachi, increasingly independent. Each morsel in the mouth returns an expression of approval (shake of head from side to side, and wobble of the body to match the shake of the head), or disapproval (a disgusted face followed by spitting out of food). I watch you try and drink your glass of water yourself, shivering with surprise when the water unexpectedly trickles down your neck into your dress. I exult when the food disappears from the bowl and fret when you seem to want nothing at all.

I watch you sleep, Puttachi, your long eyelashes kissing your round cheeks. Your lips in a slight pout, your head falling to the side like a limp rag doll. Your slow breathing. The perfect innocence and peace on your face which belies the mischief and restlessness of your wakeful periods. I kiss your forehead, touch your soft cheeks, and sigh with relief, anticipating the peace I will have for a while.

I watch you with people, Puttachi, smiling at everybody, waving to them, wanting to be everybody's friend. Bawling when they try to touch you before you are ready. Extending a hand of friendship to them (literally) when they have been patient enough to wait for you to go to them on your own.

I watch you with the people you love, Puttachi, climbing onto them, hugging them, telling them something in your baby language, placing your head on their chest/shoulder, and looking up at them with trusting eyes, and smiling delightedly.

I watch you, Puttachi, a bundle of energy, and as we roll around the floor and play, I wonder at the fact that a year ago, you and I were nearly stangers, you just a bundle swathed in white, not knowing me, needing me only to satisfy your hunger. And a year and a day ago, I hadn't even seen you. It sounds too far-fetched to believe.

You have changed our lives in more ways than I thought possible. I have learnt that you will never really know what life will be like post-baby, unless you have a baby. And then, as I like to joke, it is too late to do anything about it.

Puttachi, I have loved you ever since I knew about your existence - ever since you were just a few cells in size. The love I feel for you has only increased with time. Every time I think that I will burst with all the love, my heart expands just that little more to accommodate still more love.

I am rambling on, Puttachi, but words seem so bland. It is nearly impossible to tell you how I feel about you. All that I'll say is, my baby, you are the sweetest.

May this be the first of many, many more beautiful birthdays.

Love you.
Amma.