Ode to a One Year Old

Dear Eamon Munro Bennett Wolfe,

Hiya, Birthday Boy (okay, I’m a day late. Soooo sorry. But as you know, we were traveling home from vacation yesterday, and then there were suitcases to unpack, and naps to be had, and well, you know).



So, when I was younger, my dad (ie, your Grandpa) used to build computers. He always had spare computer parts lying around, and sometimes I would wake up and there would just be this extra whole working computer sitting there. I don’t know how he did it, but suddenly it was like this computer had always been there.

Sometimes I feel that’s what happened to your Dad and myself. It’s amazing, really, to think that you—something so fabulous and wonderful—came from spare parts. That one day your Mom and Dad got it into their silly little heads that hey! what this place needs is a BABY, whoop—we up and had one.



And now, I can’t imagine a time when you didn’t exist. No, seriously, I was just having this discussion with your father the other day. I honestly cannot comprehend sleeping in until, I dunno, WHENEVER, just because I could. I can’t imagine going somewhere and not packing the kitchen sink with me, and I can’t remember what it was like to go somewhere without budgeting in naptime.

BUT, I also can’t remember getting up in the morning and not cuddling you as you slurp down your milk. I can’t fathom a world without the sound of your staccato chuckle quietly ringing through the air. I really don’t remember how I existed before I saw your smile, the one that lights up your eyes, your face, and the entire room.

I guess what I’m trying to say is—I love you, man. And I can’t wait for all the many years to come.