He turned one yesterday. August that is. The very last human that I will nurture within myself and birth to be swallowed up by the outside world. He is the LAST. I have only 2, but that’s plenty for me. They say it takes one year to recover from birth. That while a doctor will tell you to “take it easy” for 6 weeks and go back about your life, it really takes one year for your body to morph to it’s new settled state. For me it seems to be taking longer. Of course my brain is part of my body and it feels far from settled. One year seems like an arbitrary benchmark for feeling comfortable in your personhood. But goals are important and the Gregorian calendar is no doubt the most popular way to track the passing days. So here I am at the one year mark, just starting to feel like I am coming out of the haze of caring for a new life and making a half-hearted effort to discover my own as it remains. So I’ll let the birth of the last, last baby be a bench mark for my own progress. Year two will no doubt be monumental for him and with some force of will, for me too.