It's Not Just A River In Egypt.

In exactly one week, my baby will be one year old. 364 1/4 days. Twelve months. Frighteningly close to seventh grade, driving and girlfriends.

One year ago today, this happened. And then this followed. And now, in what seems like the blink of an eye, I have an adorably mobile toddler who is sleeping in a crib on its lowest setting and prefers to eat meatballs and potatoes for dinner because he has eight teeth.

So on nights like Tuesday, when Alex had one of his very, very rare 3 a.m. whimper sessions (Really, kid...when your nose is stuffy it's very tricky to have your binky in and breathe at the same time. How else can I teach you that?) and all I want to do is roll over and get some much needed sleep, what I actually do is get up, pick up my baby boy and rock him in my arms for an hour. And smell him. And stroke his crazy, dark hair. And pat his chubby, diapered bottom. And sing to him. Because those times are fleeting, and soon he won't want me to snuggle him to sleep. He'll be playing his Nintendo DS in the backseat and will shrug his shoulders at me when I ask him what he learned in school that day.

And when that day comes, I will probably need a pitcher of margaritas for dinner just to get through.