Marta Is 1

Last night, as I was nursing Marta in the rocking chair, I looked down at her and realized that in the morning, she'd be one year old. It seems funny, because she's such a baby still. I know that one isn't 30 or anything, but still -- it's a year, where yesterday her age was measured in months. (Technically I'll be measuring her age in months until she's two, but at least we have the option now.)

Right now she's sleeping. Last year -- just last year! -- at this exact time, she and I were getting to know each other. She was born at 7:59 p.m. -- it went so quickly -- and unlike when Berit was born, Marta just hung out with me, nursed, dozed and basically became my full-time baby immediately. 

I had gone in for my final OB appointment (assuming I went into labor at 40 weeks), and just out of coincidence, Trevor met me there (you know, second baby and all... he came to the appointments when he could). My appointment was at 3:30 p.m. Cathy, Trevor's mom, had come to our house to watch Berit while I went (at this point, she was still not away from me for very long. Berit, not Cathy.).

Something sounded funny on the doppler, and with the trouble we had had with Berit's heart, our nurse and OB (both amazing, wonderful people) pulled out the ultrasound machine to check on our baby girl. And as it turned out, she was in a breech position. 

"Looks like we're having a baby," said our OB. It was a week-and-a-half early, and his father had died the night before. He'd be in his hometown by morning, and if I went into labor in that condition we'd all be in trouble.

"Meet me at the hospital at 7," he said.

I cried all the way home. Berit's labor was nice and eventful in a productive way. I had thought I'd have to have a C-section with her, and I didn't, so I felt powerful. And now, through no fault of my own powers, I was having one in an hour-and-a-half. 

And sooner rather than later, Marta was screaming, and Trevor was saying, "She's perfect! She's so cute!"

Oh, she is. 

She's got a smile that's bigger than anything and she's a book worm times a hundred. She's no shrinking violet, even in the face of Big Sister, and is determined to have her way at all times. She throws proper baby fits (the kind of which we'd never known with Berit) and all day, every day, my job is to walk, walk, walk her around the house. No cleaning, no cooking, no anything but catering to her every whim. When she spies something that could be a phone, she holds it to her ear and says, "HI! HI! HI!" She talks up a storm and laughs at everything. She snuggles -- I love a snuggly baby. When I put her to bed at night, she lays her head on my shoulder, pats my back and says "baby, baby," like I do to her. 

She is a joy. She takes naps. I love when she naps. She is one.