One

One.

It's such a simple word. Three letters. A number. One number.

It struck me the other day. My babies are turning one next month. When my oldest turned one it didn't strike me as much of a milestone. It was something that almost passed unnoticed with not much of a to-do mentally or otherwise. For some reason this time around, one feels like so, so much.

One is so many things.

One is one year with two babies. One is one year of breastfeeding two babies. One is one year of reoccurring breast infections and wishing it could end, but pushing through them. One is countless diapers changed and countless bottoms wiped.  One is one year of an only child becoming a big sister to two sisters. 

One is one year of little smiles, little fingers, little toes, and little sleep. 

One is one year of two babies, one toddler, and three children. One is one year as a family of five. One is one year of trying to figure out how to juggle parenting and marriage and somedays barely feeling like we're making it. One is one year of both of us having more responsibilities than either of us ever knew was possible. 

One is one year of making it. 

One is one year of recovering from two very different births. One is one year of trying to mentally process an almost terrifyingly fast vaginal birth. One is one year of recovering from a major abdominal surgery. One is one year of seeing pictures of moms birthing twins at home and sometimes feeling like crying. One is one year of being grateful for three healthy children. 

One is one year of countless tears cried and countless tears wiped. One is one year of the biggest emotions I've ever felt in my body and the biggest emotions I've ever tried to parent. One is one year of trying to love my new, older body and sometimes succeeding.

One is one year of feeling like I'm juggling while simultaneously trying to swim upstream a very large river. One is countless glasses of wine, countless tubs of ice cream, and countless less-than-ideal foods for breakfast, lunches, snacks and dinners. One is one year giving up countless ideals for the sake of one more day of sanity. One is one year of my heart swelling to the point where I feel like it is going to burst.

One is one year of less than three hours of sleep at a time. One is one year of needing more help than I've ever needed in my entire life. One is one year of getting more help than I've ever needed in my entire life. One is one year of realizing I could do things I never knew I could do. One is one year of carrying things I never new I could carry. One is one year. One is one year.

One is one year.

We've almost made it to one.

And that is something to celebrate.