You say, "I love you."

This week, you finally said the words I've been waiting to hear: "I love you."

Those three words--words I've heard before from men whom I've dated, including your father--are often words a woman wants to hear. But this time was so different, so sweet, so much better.

You are my son. To hear you SAY that you love me makes the word make sense now. Love: to always be there for someone--no matter what. Unconditional. Unconditionally.

...

Flashback to 1993. I am 16. A boy tells me he loves me. I don't know what to say. I love him, I think--but I don't have the courage to say the words. Words matter too much to mess them up.

...

Flashback to 2005. I am 29. I tell your father I love him. He doesn't know what to say. He love me, he thinks--but he don't have the courage to say the words. Words matter too much to mess them up.

...

Flashback to 2009. I am 33. You are born. They place you in my arms. I tell you I love you. I know it. I feel it. You are my son. I hold you and hold you and hold you.

...

Rewind: April 25, 2011. I'm reading you a story, tucking you into bed. I say, "I love you, Noah." You say, "I love you" back. Your "love" sounds like "of" but I love it anyway.

19 Months: Thoughts about Love

Today, on Valentine's Day, you turn 19 months. You're at your first Valentine's Day party at daycare; I'm home sick with the stomach flu. Here are some thoughts for you about love:

• Loving you is the easiest thing I've done--but it's also been the hardest.

• It doesn't get any better than listening to you say the word "hippo," the word "owl," the simple preposition "up."

• What I look forward to the most: Taking to you about Love.

• Someone will break your heart.

• Someone else will put it back together.

• You will break someone's heart.

• Someone will stay when everyone else ran away. This is the person to hang onto, tightly.

• Love isn't what you think it is at 16. Or 21. Or 25. Or 28. And I'm sure it keeps changing after your 30s, but I'm not there yet.

• I will always love you. NO MATTER WHAT. Never forget this.

• I hope your face always stays as sweet as it is today.

16 months: All the Words You Say

It's been four months since I wrote here. And in those four months, words keep coming from your little mouth. Here's the list:

• Mama
• Dada
• Ball
• Bird
• Baby
• Belle
• Dog
• Please
• Truck
• Bye-Bye
• Me (what you say when you want something)
• Wa-Wa (water)
• Ba-Ba (bottle)

You'll say, "Hi, Nonni," if I say it first. (Nonni is grandma Lauer)

Today, alone, I heard: cheese, tree, and popa (your name for grandpa Wilson)

You are reall starting to repeat words and phrases back. This just started a week ago. I love hearing your sweet voice say, "please." It's one of my favorites. So is "bird." You're still obsessed with them. Pointing them out in books, looking for them out the window. So, I dressed you up as one for Halloween; I even made the costume myself (see above).

Listening to you learn language is one of the coolest parts of being your mom. I'm so eager for more. The explosion of words that everyone says happens over night. You're right on the cusp, I feel.

When you were a baby, I read poetry to you. Soon we will start to read it again. I want to teach you to love words. To own them. To feel the way they coat your mouth when you say them. And then, of course, to place them on the page, beside each other, to make music. Utterance.

I see your voice bird

the blue one, bottomless

like the sky. To make you

the way I made you:

letters, a list of

sounds I feel you say. You

are as open as your wide-mouth kiss.

All I want is for you to stay this way.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday, you turned one. I have a habit of being late now; I never used to be late. So much going on and you fill my days in ways I never imagined.

We had a good day. After daycare, I took you for ice cream and you had your first turtle sundae. You loved it! Then we went to the book store, and you picked out a book. Then we went to the doctor for your one-year check up. You weigh 20 lbs 4 ounces and you're 33 inches long. You were great for your shots, but the last one was painful and I saw the same face I saw when you entered this world a year ago.

I love you so much. I tear up thinking about my love for you and that moment at 12:09 on 7/14/09 when you arrived. Nothing was as I imagined it--your birth, the moments after, the weeks after--and those who know the full details of your birth story know what I mean by that.

Even though things did not go as expected, today, looking back, I cannot ask for more. You are the sweetest, most fun, and energetic little boy--and you are mine. I want life to be grand for you. When we were looking at the map today, pointing out all of the places that I've lived and traveled, I thought of your future and the map you will fill with tiny pins, as I have, and I hope it's full of tiny colored dots. Remember that the world is wide open. Go there. Be carefree.

Happy birthday. This is the beginning of an incredible journey. You entered the world on a pillow, as your Aunt Jo-Jo says; may you embrace life as enthusiastically as you entered it.

Your first steps

You've been taking steps since Memorial Day. The most you've taken: 15. Most of the time, it's a step here; a pivot there--but it's been such a joy watching you learn to walk.

I've been bad about writing to you via this blog. Your dad and I are writing a wine blog for Chicago Now, and it's sucking up most of my writing time.

You were named after the biblical Noah but not after the ark, the vines he planted. Many people don't know that part of the story, but Noah was the first person to plant a vineyard in the Bible.

In one month, you will turn one year. I keep flashing back to last June, my big belly full of you and so anxious for your arrival. Now, I watch you walk. From nothing to someone so incredible.

Your six-tooth smile all I need. And those curls on the back of your head...

Swimming with You

Yesterday, we swam together for the first time. A simple act, really. But an act I've dreamt of since you were swimming inside me.

You loved the water, a small pool at your friend CJ's apartment in downtown Chicago. You loved kicking your legs and splashing your arms. You loved "jumping" into the water from the side the of pool. You smiled the entire time, even when you swallowed water, even when your eyes got red from so much splashing.

This is only the beginning. We will swim underwater. We will swim butterfly. We will swim in lakes. We will swim in the ocean. We will swim at night. We will swim in cold water in a cave. We will swim with fish, in seaweed, in a race, in the rain, in the moonlight. Water is the most amazing thing on this earth. I will teach you to respect it. To crave it. To be at one with it. To be in awe of it, like the first time you try to surf or when a giant wave in Hawaii engulfs you. To even fear it, like how a fast-paced river can sweep you away in an instant. Most of all, I will teach you to find joy in it: the sun's rays on your back; the pure beauty of a warm part of a fresh-water lake followed by a wave of cold; the art of a perfectly-timed flip turn; and the intensity of an open-water race.

Water has meant more to me than any natural element in this world. I bathed in it, while I labored with you. It relaxed me when nothing else would. I share you with all of this, so you will immerse yourself in it. Seek it. The moments you have in water will stay with you longer than those you have on land.

8 months and a tooth

Everything happened at once. I turned 34, and you began crawling, pulled yourself to stand, and popped a tooth. Ten days later, you turned 8 months. You're moving fast now.

Every day is so exciting. I am utterly in love with you, your smiles, your laughs, your falls. This has got to be my favorite age--and stage--so far. Watching you explore the world.

Today, when I picked you up from daycare, you crawled to me. I've been waiting for this moment, since I dropped you off day-one. Some day, you'll laugh at this--but I've been scared you don't know who I am. When I drop you off/pick you up from daycare, most days you don't acknowledge me. You're busy playing with toys. But today...you crawled to me, and I felt like your mom for the first time. Your mom. Your mom. I am your mom. Everything is for you, now.