How do you measure a year?
Can a year be measured in bounces?
In sh-sh-shhhing a sweet newborn boy?
Can a year be measured in rocking? Or swings?
Sleepy yawns, eye rubs, or startle reflexes?
Bottles washed? Ounces drank?
First sweet smiles?
Or is it measured in sibling kisses and proud smiles?
Do you measure a year in miles spent in Baby Bjorns?
Or the tightness of a swaddling blanket?
The volume of a sound machine?
Or the moments when your baby looks you in the eye?
Is it measured in ounces and pounds?
Or the minutes spent in tummy time?
Can you measure a year in baby giggles?
Do you measure a year in sleepless hours at night?
Or cuddles of a heavy sleepy head on your chest?
Do you measure a year in rolls to your back or rolls to your front?
In packages of baby food?
In green veggies eaten? In green diapers changed?
Can you measure a year in smiles?
In hours spent crawling?
In helpful big sisters?
Can you measure a year in silly dances your daddy makes you do?
In bath water and shampoo?
How about with puffs and Cheerios falling from high chairs?
In baby rolls of fat?
I measure a year in objects used to pull up on.
In splashes at bath time. In balls thrown and caught.
I measure it steps taken around the couch.
And books read.
A year can be measured in clapping, didn't you know?
In Cheerios, always in Cheerios.
The cuddles too, for they are endless.
Hair "gel" and faux hawks.
Time can be measured in "ooh!'s"
In waves at friends.
And can it be measured in the first step?
Or the multitudes of miles to come thereafter?
Can you measure a year in tickles?
Can it be measured in waffles eaten?
My year can be measured in love.
In sweet baby smiles, in the love of siblings and the pride of a big sister.
In goofy facial expressions. I measure my year in looks given to Dustin that say, "aren't we so lucky?"
I measure a year in my sweet blue-eyed baby boy's happiness.
Always with happiness.
Happy Birthday, River Monster!