The Birthday I Can't Remember (But Will Never Forget)
Of all the milestones we celebrate, the first birthday has to be the most bizarre. It’s a massive party thrown in your honor, attended by people who are overjoyed to see you, and you have absolutely zero recollection of it. I, of course, am no exception. My knowledge of my own first birthday is a patchwork quilt, stitched together from grainy photos, half-remembered family stories, and the undeniable, photographic evidence of cake... everywhere. Apparently, I was the star of the show. Based on the evidence (a blurry photo album I treasure), I was dressed in some poofy, adorable-but-probably-itchy outfit that my mom had likely been planning for months. My hair, which was more of a dedicated fuzz at that point, was brushed into submission. I looked thoroughly confused. And why wouldn't I be? For 364 days, my life had been a pretty consistent loop of eat, sleep, cry, and discover the magic of my own feet. On day 365, I was suddenly the main attraction. The house was full of giants (my...