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August 29, 2007

I had this vague notion of putting together a nice little video montage for Riley’s second birthday like I did for his first, but technology has conspired against me: my desktop machine is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge peripheral devices and thus the fancy digital camcorder remains clogged with footage from the last few months. Suck.

I’d feel more guilty, but I finally put together his “Baby’s First Year” book (thank you, Shutterfly!) TWO WEEKS AGO, so clearly this whole delayed Precious Memory stuff is par for the course in my household.

Humor me, pretend this space [ X ] contains a lovely video showing my son’s miraculous leaps of development from squalling, angry one-year-old to squalling, angry two-year-old. With fancy transitions and shit.

Riley’s birthday is on Friday, and the current plan is to be hanging out at the family cabin in Oregon, hopefully enjoying some nice weather and eating a big ole Dairy Queen ice cream cake. There was some murmuring about whether or not I wanted to bake him something myself, until I reminded all involved parties that I DON’T HAVE AN OVEN. I didn’t use all caps when I said it, but they were implied. Besides, I still remember last year and the adorable, delicious homemade heart-shaped (HEART. SHAPED) cupcakes I slaved over, and how Riley viewed my efforts with the kind of suspicion normally displayed by customs agents and British headmasters.

It has been a trying, exhilarating, amazing, difficult, and unforgettable two years since Riley entered our lives. I feel like we have climbed Mt. Everest a thousand times over, and the view is always changing, more marvelous than the day before, but the terrain never gets any easier. Sometimes I think that’s the nature of the very best things in life, that they take hard work, because the payoff is that much sweeter. (Of course, sometimes I think that’s idiotic and there’s a reason why everyone wants to win the fucking lottery.)

Parenthood is the biggest thing I’ve ever done, that I ever will do. It is the hardest thing, it is the most relentlessly brutal, and it is a wondrous and nearly painful joy. What can I say that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? I love my boy, so very much.

Newborn.

6 months.

1 year.

18 months.

2 years.

(Oh, how quickly it’s gone by. It’s hard to believe, but there it is in pixels: two whole years.)

Have a wonderful weekend, friends. I’ll talk to you in a few days.

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