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It’s an ordinary Tuesday night; both my girls are finally asleep (not without a bit of resistance). Now, I’m crouched on the kitchen floor, gathering the remnants of food scattered in joyful chaos by my youngest, Poppy, who somehow turned one yesterday. Just writing those words makes my heart flutter: I’m now parenting a four-year-old and a one-year-old. I can hardly believe how quickly this year has flown by with her. In some ways, it feels like she’s always been part of our family, and in others, it feels like I blinked and here we are. I’m still discovering new layers of who she is as she grows, changes, and becomes the person she was meant to be. I find myself picking up strawberries, fighting back tears, realizing that next year, at this time, my baby girl will be even older, and there won’t be strawberries scattered all over the house.
Our calendar has been filled to the brim lately—with birthday parties for cousins, dinners with friends, and, of course, the whirlwind of spring school events. I didn’t have the energy to throw a big party for Poppy, but I longed for a way to mark her first year in a more intimate, cozy way.
She’s our spring baby, so I decided to incorporate little touches of the season—flowers seemed like the perfect theme, as our girl is delightful like the feeling of spring breeze after a long winter.
I printed a collection of photos from her first year of life, hanging them on the wall with tiny clothes pins and white twine.
I gathered a few sweet bouquets in shades of yellow, green, and purple.
I baked her a vanilla cake, topped with buttercream frosting and adorned with fresh purple tulips (beautiful to look at, but not so much for eating). These are the same tulips I placed on my kitchen counter last year when I was in the depths of postpartum depression. Their presence now is a reminder of how much can change in a year—and how grief and joy can exist side by side, carried with intention in this body.
I hand-stitched her a fabric crown, imperfect but full of love, with a ‘1’ sewn proudly in the center. I used my late grandmother’s fabric scissors and a sewing machine gifted to me by my mother. My four-year-old helped me pick out the fabric and stayed by my side as we stayed up late, cutting, stitching, tying, and laughing long after Poppy had drifted to sleep. It felt as if the love of generations had been woven into every stitch. When I placed the crown on Poppy’s head, I felt as though I was crowning her with the very best parts of the matriarchs in our family. I made a promise to myself that I’ll create a new fabric crown every year, watching my skills as a seamstress grow. I hope to save these crowns in a memory box—perhaps one day, she’ll pass them down to her own children.
Florence and I eagerly awaited my husband’s return home from work, so we could finally throw our little ‘party’ and share the cake. Poppy, sweetly unaware of the significance this day holds for us, simply sat there, adorable as ever with her sweet cheeks and little grin.
This is my baby girl—it’s a delight to celebrate one year of her precious life. One year of togetherness. One year of us. More-so, we’re thanking God for the gift she is and trusting He will continue to help us parent her and raise her into a confident woman who never questions how much the three of us adore her.
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