Gil turned 1 y/o on Thursday, sadly with little fanfare. No party thrown by his dads (we were returning from a relaxing week in Ogunquit) (and the Nanny is throwing a party next week), no phone calls from friends (he doesn't really use the phone much anyway) and not a single acknowledgement from any relative on either side of the family.

[Why no one remembered poor Gil's birthday? Grandchild fatigue? Maybe adopted kids' birthdays are overlooked because they are not preceded by a nine-month build-up? Maybe everyone is too busy with their lives? Maybe the event of the adoption is focused on the parents and their dreams-come-true and not on the child's entrance into the world? Maybe his birthday was too close on the heels of our wedding to which no one in the family was invited anyway and they are taking it out on poor Gil?]

[Or, maybe people just forgot...]

He is crawling nearby, right now, in the kitchen. Making funny noises at the cat who is tolerating his erratic attention (probably because poor Emile misses Scout who died in June; "Scout got very, very sick," says Kofi, which is what we told him happened when grandma died last Spring). His appetite is phenomenal, he is eating what Kofi eats, no more formula, baby food just to get rid of what we have, he is pulling himself to stand and cruising along any fixed (or unfixed) piece of furniture he can lay his hands on. Generally adorable, even last night at 3am when he inexplicably woke up and screamed for 15 minutes (seemed longer) or when he woke up this morning at 6:30am and insisted on carpe-ing his diem before we were quite ready to rouse ourselves from our too too interrupted slumber.

Exhausted, exhilarated, underslept, and undercaffeinated, I marvel at this journey I find myself on. Thank g-d for Rob who makes it all possible. If only he would wake up so we can go get coffee...