Percival Robert.

A whole year with you has passed, and again, I am in awe. How can twelve short months, a string of days, bring about so much growth in a baby? And how is it that you’ve only been here for a year — haven’t you always been a part of who we are? It certainly feels like that.

In the last six weeks you’ve figured out walking — from figuring out how to pick your feet up while standing (that was a big moment!) to walking as quickly as your bow-legged stance can handle. And it’s the cutest thing to see you suddenly arrive around the corner, fists up in the air for balance, wobbling at every turn. But I’ll admit, seeing the rolls on your arms and legs melt away with all of that walking made me sad. You’re growing — and growing up.

I loved this year with you, Percival. How many times did I just laugh over your rolls! And how delightful to see every one of your siblings immediately and completely fall in love with you. You still wake up each morning and from every nap to exclamations of your name as everyone pauses to smile in your direction. For many months, your morning routine was to want to be wrapped snug and tight, held with your head snuggled in my neck, while I walked and bounced around my room — and you’d quietly and quickly drift off to sleep. Oh, so sweet, and a moment in each day when it was just you and me. I cherish that.

Happy, smiling, already working so hard to get a laugh from your adoring fans. I think God’s idea of family is so amazing, as I see you confidently take your place in our world, knowing from the very start that you belong here, you are loved here, and all that we have is yours.

In another calendar change, you’ll be 2 — you’ll spend a few more months wrecking Enid’s play before you figure out how to constructively engage. You’ll figure out how to say “Mama” on purpose, and probably a good hearty “no”, too. We’ll freshen up our matchbox collection and maybe you’ll rediscover Jameson’s beloved trains. Whatever it may be, I’ll be here, soaking it up, wishing it could slow down, smiling at the simple fact that you are.