The Only Living Boy In New York

We all woke up early this morning.  All three of us had fallen asleep before seven last night but had slept badly because we were so excited for the day ahead.  Like the Christmas Eves of my childhood, I kept checking the time, willing it to move faster toward morning.  So we were awake at 5:16, which, of course, was 11:16 in Sweden, the time when Jamie was born one year ago today.  We sang him the birthday song and played until the breakfast buffet opened downstairs.  Then we walked all over Manhattan for hours and hours and hours in the steaming heat, feeling guilty all the while that the poor birthday boy was spending his day strapped into a stroller.  And then, when we had nowhere else to walk because we had reached the end of the island, this fountain in Battery Park appeared through the bushes.  A dream come true for a hot baby on his birthday.  A baby who tried to make friends with everybody there, who wasn't afraid to go right up to those streams of water shooting up out of the ground, an adventurer who loves discovering new things only slightly more than being held by his mommy.  A baby who has all too quickly become a big boy.  Happy Birthday, Jamie, and thank you for making this past year the most meaningful of my life.