Rachel was walking into church with Iris in the sling. A greeter asked "So how old is she now?" Rachel responded saying Iris was turning one this week. The woman gave Iris a fake scolding look and said, "Well that's the rudest thing ever!"
I admit I had a little moment of heart-string-tugging the day she turned one. After all, she is the baby of the family, and I love the literal sound of 'pitter-patter' as her feet slap against the wood floors as she wanders around the house, sometimes calling out, "Daaa!, Daaaaaaa!" as she looks for me.
I know soon she won't play "How big is Iris...sooooo big!" because she will be so big. That will be just fine with me, because each age brings something special. For now, however, I will do my utmost to be present when she is in my arms or pushing against the garage door and encouraging me to open it by hollering, "owside!" so I'll open the door and we can putter around the garage together.
All sappiness aside, I want to get one thing in writing, Iris. You, perhaps even more so than your big brother, seem to need less sleep than a vampire. And because of this, I am officially compelling you to repay your mom and me for late and sleepless nights by choosing a really nice nursing home for us when we're old and picking up half the tab. I'm talking swimming pool, shuffleboard, a 'clapper' for our nightlight, the whole nine yards.
I love you Itty-bitty. Thank you for being such a source of joy and blessing to our family.