July 22

Do you think I will always remember that July 22 was supposed to be Nathan's birthday?

I spent so long (ok, only nine months... but it feels so long when you're knocked up) counting down to July 22, that it seems strange now to disregard it as just another Tuesday. I don't know whether I want to celebrate it or resent it. I think probably resent it. Instead of meeting my son last July 22, I spent the day reading Harry Potter (and racing through it, since I didn't want to be mid-novel and have to stop reading to push a baby out!), getting a pedicure (they say foot massage can induce labor), and -- after one trip to the hospital for a litmus test on leaking fluid (no dice, obviously) -- pretty much doing a whole lot of waiting around, avoiding the phone since the only question anyone was asking me was, "is he here yet?" (Yes, brand new grandparent. We totally had the baby, and he's home from the hospital now. Didn't we tell you? Doofus.)

So now that it's July 22 again, I think that Nathan is kind of already one. I mean, what day you pop out doesn't really determine how old you are, does it? The day you're created should determine how old you are. (My sister once told me that's how they do it in China. She's full of useful random knowledge like that.) The problem with that is you never know exactly when conception takes place (don't get me started on that 1950s 40-week wheel every OB nurse still insists on carrying around). But somehow I think a conception date (off of which the due date is based) is a little less random than a birth date.

Anyway, happy birthday to my baby, who is gestationally one year old today! (Or is he gestationally one year and nine months? Or one year and nine months, minus the two "pregnancy" weeks before conception? Yeah, I guess that's it. One year and 38 weeks, then. My head is spinning.)