One year ago today, you were the cutest new year’s date. We took the dog for a walk in the afternoon, on a hill overlooking downtown. Afterward, we went home and popped the tops off a couple bottles – prosecco for me, formula for you. We cuddled and watched something on Netflix; I don’t remember what, but it probably had a predictably happy ending that only vaguely me distracted me from the apprehension of whether you’d get one of your own. 

You had arrived at my house a few days before Christmas, which was also the day you turned four months old. I don’t know much about the circumstances. Your oldest sister – aged seven – had run from your apartment and across the street to a nearby gas station for help. An ambulance came, and so did Children’s Services. I often think of your sister and worry whether she later regretted her brave move. I hope it led to your dad getting help, but it also meant you and your four sisters were separated. 

Later on, I asked someone about your mother and was told she’d been reported missing since the spring. I held you up as evidence and said – probably a bit too rudely – that she had obviously reappeared at some point. My remark didn’t get much response, but I often worry about her too. I can only imagine that having five kids under the age of eight was rather taxing, on top of any other issues she might have experienced. 

Whatever the story, you need to know that you are easy to love. You had the squishiest cheeks and – eventually – a big, bright smile. We built an easy routine together – not without help, of course. Another foster parent babysat for a couple of days while I finished up work for the year, and friends and family dove in with support over Christmas. You have a name that lends itself to nicknames and it seemed that almost everyone wanted to give you one. 

In our short time together, you changed so much. Your gaze became sharper and more engaged. Your head, quite flat when we met, became more round. You started reaching for toys and became more vocal. Your chubby legs began kicking harder, and you wanted to jump when held upright. You hated the car seat, but loved napping in the car.

The dog wasn’t sure what to make of a baby, but she often stayed under your bassinet while you slept and ran around anxiously when you started to stir – kind of like, “I still don’t know what to do with this tiny creature, but she’s moving and you should know about it!” 

We spent Christmas in two locations, and my extended family warmed to you immediately. We did our best to capture photos of your first Christmas for you. 

By the time we rang in the new year, I was wrestling hard with the reality that you needed to move on from my house as an emergency placement, and into a more baby-friendly home. I swung wildly between imagining scenes of a loving family and an abusive one. When the day came, I asked your caseworker if I could meet him at the new home and bring you there myself – rather than have him pick you up. I needed to see the place…and it did help me feel reassured. The new foster mom asked lots of good questions about you, and I’ve since heard that you’re still there with her and doing well. I also heard that perhaps some of your sisters were reunited and I know there were plans for all of you to have visits with your dad. 

I hope it all worked as best it could. I don’t know what it might mean to you that I think of you all the time, but the fact is…I do. It boggles my mind that you’ll never know how much of an impact you had on me in such a short time, and it seems unendingly bizarre that some of the key people in my life never even met you. 

Writing this post has taken me a year, partly because I know this description can’t do you justice. Some of the most tender moments of my life occurred with you, and I don’t have the words to tell you about it. I like to write, but I lack the ability to articulate how uniquely special you are. I fear the sentences I’ve cobbled together sound like I’m describing every other adorable baby…but maybe that’s the point: you deserve to be celebrated just like every other baby. 

You deserve so much, every day and forever. Happy new year, Baby M. 

In early 2023, I became a licensed foster parent in Alberta. This post and others are meant to share glimpses of what that’s like, while respecting confidentiality. Please note there is a serious need for additional caregivers; anyone interested can learn more here. 

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