Like a Sharpie with a chisel. Of diamonds. Big ones.

It continues to be Birthday Week.

On Monday I enjoyed regaling my pretty terrific husband P.J. with a list of 29 reasons why he should remain married to me.

Today's featured birthdaygoer (and haver) is none other than Nora Jane, One Year Old Extraordinaire (well, tomorrow, anyhow.)

What?! How can she be that aged already, didn't you carry her for thrice this long, you exclaim? (AGREED.) But since it wouldn't be fair to only list 1 reason why she should continue to remain my daughter (and how thoroughly incredible she is)...I've decided to compile a number that shall reveal itself when I finish this post, as I shall make it up then.

Dear N.J.,

1. You may be small (in size as well as years), but you have already- undeniably- learned the important life skill of getting exactly what you want. And- despite my tireless reinforcement of  rules, politesse and patience- whenever you want. What's your trick? Why, it's the same as your Daddy's- offering up a stunning and genuine smile before and after the event or object of your fascination.

It goes like this: grin/point/thatthatthat/applause/poke/patpatpat/grasp/beam.

Here's your pony.

2. You have a miniature library containing hundreds of titles. Despite this, we are captive readers each night of Ten Little Ladybugs. This in and of itself is not amazing- but what is is your ability to be constantly enchanted by these twenty pages, sometimes flipping back to marvel at earlier plot developments. So much so, in fact, that we find ourselves laughing along with you, excitedly pointing out characters in a tale that, frankly, had long ago ceased to be suspenseful. ("Previously, on Ten Little Ladybugs...")

In short, you make everything really, really fun. And did you know that your father would be so adept at voicing grasshoppers and butterflies?

3. You eat pesto and eggplant and Armenian delicacies. Actually, "eat" is too ladylike of a term for how you destroy plates of food. Actually, same goes for "plate." It's a good thing you're strapped into that highchair and it's made of fairly solid and toxin-free wood. Watching you consume food is an almost daily revelation. You've never tasted this or that- your reactions are immediate and for the first time ever.

That is so cool.

Subsequently, you make us feel like really, really good cooks. Which is awesome! Even though sometimes you eat to mimic us and pack teensy bites of bread into that cavernous mouth of yours like the squirrel-cheeked beastie that you are...you NEVER lie or pull punches. If the alfredo sucks, then the alfredo sucks- and it's going on the floor.

4. Our days together kinda always feel like a Saturday, early in the afternoon. We have a good time. You're game for strollin', car seatin' (usually), being slung (slingin'?), ridin' in the shopping cart, swingin' at the playlot...and pretending that you don't know how to walk. (I know you do. I've seen it when you think I'm not looking, lazy bum!) We watch Jeopardy. (You get super excited when Alex Trebek laughs. And the other day, when they showed a pic of a cat sarcophagus, you squealed "catkittycatmeowhihihihimeow" for, oh- a good half an hour.)

You climb on our tall speakers and tap them for emphasis, announcing to the room at large that it would be great if someone could make something happen here. You love music. All music. But especially stuff that lets you dance with lots of hip and knee action. (Again, this is a lot like your Dad.) And speaking of him...you innately know when he's due to arrive home and you bounce impatiently by the speakers, clapping and cheering like an Elvis sighting when you hear the key in the lock. And then he plays songs that the two of you have deemed your favorites. And then you dance identically.

But there are also afternoons where you are beyond content to sit and play with a pile of blocks, dolls and books by yourself. Happily turning pages, patting babies' eyes, shoving smallish pieces into your mouth or shirt or underneath a pile of something that will be unearthed later in the week (you've recently discovered the concept of a "nook")...this is when you allow me to return emails, write, start dinner, lay facedown on the area rug in unfolded laundry...

We've discovered, you and I, what so many relationships strive to attain throughout years of togetherness: we can just be. Sure, me more than you, but you've allowed me to work on the discipline of Not. Having. To. Work. On. Something. At. All. Times. (And yes, definitely, that's still a work in progress.)

5. Nora Noodle Junebug Jane, you've made me a more prolific writer. (I hesitate to say "better," because I'm barely functional in terms of grammar and punctuation in my casual writing.) And it's not all about sunlit beams over sleeping babes and blah blah- because, as most people are well aware, my poetry is God Awful. (It's really bad. It even rhymes.) But, when I need to write something down and explain it (and tangent it) to death, you've inspired me to write and write and write. 'Cause babydoll, now I know fear. And rage. And comedy so dangerous to bladders it should have its own warning label.

Granted, the stuff I write isn't exactly the apex of literature- but then again, in my kid-free days, I wasn't exactly penning Chaucer. [Note: Really? Chaucer? I've been an avid reader since the early 80s and my go-to example of literary greatness is the Canterbury Tales? Really?]

Oh, Nora, I've failed you in this list. The idea of even pretending that individual numbers correspond to itemized ramblings is a little inane. So...

20. Everyone said how hard IT was. How hard IT was gonna be. Few people said- or were even able to let on- how unimaginably wonderful IT is. How full of wonder, joy, exquisite sadness and shocking hilarity this whole shebang was gonna turn out.

And, weirdly enough, "life-changing" (as overused as it is) doesn't seem big enough to cover it. Because it was- obviously. But any time you do something new and nutso, your life is bound to change. I need a new term for something so upside-down-making, so outside the realm of one's comprehension, that you can't help but be immediately catapulted into a stronger and more strongly defined person.

Nora, you've so thoroughly outlined my edges that I've been Etch-A-Sketched. With a Sharpie.

And, no I don't think that this kinda transformation is exclusive to parents- I can think of at least five other Life Etch-A-Sketching events- but I think I was lucky enough to get it right with you, kiddo.

I think I was lucky.

(Happy birthday.)