to hudson, on his first birthday

"Some days are diamonds, some days are stones."

That lyric has turned over in my mind quite a bit this past year. The day you arrived in this world was most certainly a diamond. 

But after that, the diamonds and the stones get all mixed up. 


When I look back at this year, when I hold it out in my hand, what glitters most are ordinary moments, moments that I thought were just stones at the time. 

Your round little newborn head bobbing up off my shoulder. 
You in your high chair at breakfast this morning, your soft white hair puffed and matted, your mouth smeared with blueberry juice. 
Tiny hands and fingernails on my skin while you nurse. 
You bundled in Isaac's black winter coat, snug and warm against his chest as we walk through the snow. 
Sweaty, milk drunk naps on my lap. 
The days when you lied still on the change table, when looking at my face was enough. 
The time you excitedly squatted down beside a woman's wheelchair at Giant Tiger, touching the rim of the wheels and saying, "Vroom! Vroom!"
Your little foot turning as you fall asleep, or flopping onto my leg so that you know I'm there. 
Your Dr. Seuss body in brightly patterned sleepers.
That smile and look on your face when we share a joke, something I didn't realize I would be able to do with a baby so early. 
Your fat stage.
That time you were sitting in the bath, belly and arms shiny, clapping two plastic cups together, and I realized -- you are irreplaceable, I couldn't make another Hudson, and so my heart is a new level of breakable.
 Hearing a happy "Pah! Ba-ba-ba-ba ..." beside me as you suddenly wake up in the morning. 
Your swipe of long hair at the front that you've had since you were born. 
Sloppy, open mouthed "kissies." 
Waving good-bye to Daddy out of the window, watching him walk to work. 
You at my feet removing Tupperware from the bottom drawer, piece by piece, while I do dishes. 
The stunning realization that I am the mom in this situation. It doesn't matter what the book says, what the advice is, what works for someone else -- it's my job to sift through all of this and make the judgement call. The freedom in that thought, and the weight of that thought. 
Big toothless smiles -- and then toothy smiles -- from the baby swing at the park. 
Your penchant for eating toilet paper. 
The way you wave good-bye, a few beats too late and with your arm stiff and making circles, like you're tossing pizza dough. 
Your small voice saying "Ma-ma" and "Da-da" -- redefining us in more ways than you realize.


A million little diamonds, flecks of something precious in ordinary dull stones.


We love you, Hudson Stephen Shelley. Thank you for making every stone sparkle, and making me think that maybe I should have looked at life this way all along. 

To listen to the song with the lyric -- admittedly, nothing having to do with babies, click here.