Today you are one year old. Congratulations (to me, for having successfully kept you alive this long)! Granted I had some practice with your sister, but still, parenting is always a learning curve.
I have to say, as you are turning into a little man, you are one handsome little guy. You are going to be gorgeous! And I feel it is my responsibility to take credit for this.
It is also my duty and obligation to endow you with fodder for future therapy appointments. Because if you are going to pay someone hundreds of dollars an hour to talk to you, you need to have something good to say. See, mommy is always looking out for you.
One day, probably not long from now, I will remember what your actual name is, and stop calling you Ducky. Then you will grow up, having forgotten you ever had the nickname, and sometime around the age of thirty, one of two things is likely to happen. Either you will have a strange fascination with ducks that you will not be able to explain. Or, you will have a strong aversion to them and take up duck hunting. Please don’t hurt the ducks! Your father and I will happily supply you with duck figurines and stuffed animals to fuel a large scale collection.
But seriously, my little Duck, I love you, and have loved you since I found out you existed. So today we will celebrate… wait, today we will not celebrate much because mommy gets home really late. This weekend, we will celebrate you, your life (albeit short thus far), and your importance. We all love you in our own ways. Munchie loves you as a baby brother and favorite toy, and you will always be her baby brother, even when you are twice her size. Just like you will always be my baby boy even when you are forty and quite possibly twice my size (I would make an excellent Jewish mother by the way). And Daddy will love you as men love. I am not sure how that works precisely, and it will probably not involve crying at your every milestone, but just so you know, he does love you deeply.
So my Duck, my beautiful boy, happy birthday! And just think, today is nowhere near as traumatic as the day you were actually born.