One

Brooklyn Claire,

Exactly one year ago, your momma called me on the phone.  She told me, "No false alarm this time.  When can you get here?"  I told her 15 minutes, and I prayed for no traffic on I-35.  You were not the only miracle granted that day; I made it to your doorstep in only 11 minutes.  After some quick instructions on how to manage your big brother who I was charged with keeping and some frantic hustling of your parents out the door, the race to the hospital was on.  The third miracle?  Your father's lead foot. 

And then... there was you, with your chubby bunny cheeks and deep blue eyes.  This is the first picture I snapped, you with your mother's hands and your father's mouth, already wondering what all the fuss was about.

It's a long, strange journey into the world...

I've thought a great deal about that number today.  One.  One year.  One word.  How could I describe you in one simple word?  Which would I choose?

Sweet.

Relaxed.

Peaceful.

Hairbows.

Tutus.

Smiles.

Cautious.

Precious.

Glorious.

Adorable.

Adored.

Tiny.

Delicate.

Hungry.

Healthy.

Happy.

Amazing.

Loving.

Beloved.

Sister.

Niece.

Granddaughter.

Daughter.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Yes.  That's the one I think I'd choose of the millions available -- the one we'd all choose.  Perfect.

Happy 1st Birthday, Brook-Brook. You make the number 1 mean so many incredible things.