I blame her father

Most of the time, my baby (also known as my entire life, if you couldn't tell by this blog in the last year) is perfectly sweet. Seriously adorable.

four-second proof of sweetness.

But then she will have a night like tonight. Where she screams during her diaper change. Screams in her high chair through all of dinner and refuses to eat her food. Pees on the floor while I am getting her ready for the bath. Screams through the whole bath. Pees in my face (how is that physically possible?!?) while I'm trying to get her dressed. Screams through story time. Burps so hard she throws up her antibiotics all over me.

Then she calms down just enough to give me a cute kiss good night. (I think that's her evolutionary survival mechanism kicking in.)

And on nights like this, I am left wondering: Where did this sometimes-curly-haired little beast come from?

For all the naysayers...

She had her cake

and then she ate it, too.

And then she was one

Well, in her first year, this little darling had three homes, two crazy parents, and one sweet and silly personality to show off. I don't know how we ever felt anything close to complete without her. This was truly the most challenging, most frustrating, most exhausting and best year of my life.

Happy birthday, little one. Let's try celebrating without your miserable head cold this weekend, eh?

Sometimes the lemonade just makes itself

I've been going through a small rough patch. As one of my favorites would say, "They weren't the kind of thing you would run home to mother about. But I cried into my pillow now and again."

Then things started to fall into place. Everyone recovered from the stomach flu (even though it took Penelope more than a week before she was back to herself). My dead phone was not only replaced; it was upgraded. We finally got a new dishwasher. (That's right, boys and girls, my phone and dishwasher were both MIA for more than a week. I now know how pioneers lived.)

And even though things really were getting lighter -- though not necessarily better (life is generally good to me, you see) -- I couldn't shake the one big downer in my life lately: My little girl turns one this week.

One year old.

I've been planning her birthday party, which has changed at least a dozen times, for weeks in an attempt to get excited about it. But mostly, I can't help but feel like she's not my baby any more. And I'm incredibly sad about that. One of the most profound and breathtaking experiences of my life has been watching Penelope grow and learn and really become herself. And I love that, don't get me wrong. It's just amazing how quickly I have begun to feel unnecessary in the process.

A little less than a year ago, I was craving the day that the baby wouldn't need me for just long enough that I could go to the bathroom. Now she gets into anything she wants and is totally capable of entertaining herself. If she could open a baby food jar and figure out how to put a diaper back on, she'd be good to go. (I might be slightly exaggerating here, but only just.)

Today as I was getting her up and ready after her nap, she gave me a wonderful hug. (seriously, Penelope is probably the best hugger I have ever met. If you don't believe me, come over to our house with a pillow pet, squishy ball, or bean bag and just see what happens.) Then, out of the blue -- brace yourselves -- she gave me a kiss. A real life kiss on my shoulder. It was perfect. Slightly awkward. Totally sincere. And I hope she always proudly tells people that she gave her first kiss to her mommy.

Don't worry. I won't be letting her forget any time soon. Because, you see, it made my week. It was even better than finally getting a dishwasher.

Or an iPhone. But that was also really nice.