One Year In, and Everything Is Changing
February, March, and the Beginning of Something New
Sometimes motherhood grabs ahold of us and asks for more than we ever expected to give.
Celebrating one year of the little boy who changed everything.
That’s where I’ve been these past few months—navigating sickness, celebrating our baby’s first birthday, and learning what this season of life really looks like for us.
I started writing this post months ago—somewhere in the middle of February, I think—when the days felt long and heavy and a little never-ending. And then I stopped because life didn’t slow down long enough for me to come back to it.
February brought weeks of sickness that lingered longer than we thought they would.
The kind that keeps you home more than you planned, cancels things you were looking forward to, and leaves you feeling like you’re just trying to make it through each day.
Then March came… and instead of rest, it brought a different kind of full.
Taxes. Easter. Birthday planning. Trying to soak in the first signs of spring while also feeling like there was always something to do next.
Our tiny home felt especially full during those weeks—not just with things, but with life.
With movement.
With responsibility.
With this constant forward motion that never really gave us space to pause.
The ordinary days became some of my favorites.
But woven into all of that were the moments I never want to forget.
Walks by the lake.
Letting the dogs run free at the park.
Warmer days that felt like a breath of fresh air after a long winter.
One small adventure at a time.
Watching Banks grow and change almost daily—learning, exploring, becoming more himself with every passing week.
And all of it led up to something I still can’t quite believe…
Our little boy turning one.
We didn’t just celebrate him for a day—we gave him a whole week.
Then life reminded us that plans can change in an instant.
The day before we were supposed to drive six hours to a cabin in the mountains of Virginia that we had rented more than a month earlier for Banks’s birthday vacation…
Zach was laid off.
And still… we went.
My family drove three and a half hours from the coast of Virginia to be with us, staying nearby just so they could celebrate this milestone together. Those days felt so full in the best way.
We had Easter egg hunts in the grass, passed around Chick-fil-A and snacks, and watched cousins play and connect.
There was laughter, noise, babies being held, conversations overlapping, and that feeling you only get when everyone you love is in one place at the same time.
Some of my favorite memories happened around this fire.
My mom made his cake by hand late that night in the dimly lit cabin kitchen—a dinosaur that was perfectly imperfect and full of love. We all stood around offering opinions that probably weren't very helpful.
Made by Nana with a whole lot of love.
It's a memory I have a feeling we'll all laugh about for years.
There were dinosaur PB&Js, decorations scattered across the tables, and a little boy right in the middle of it all, taking everything in.
It was simple and special and exactly what I had hoped for.
After the celebration weekend ended and everyone went home, it was just the three of us for the rest of the week.
We found ourselves standing beneath Natural Bridge, surrounded by something so much bigger than us.
At one point, I held Banks’s hand as he walked beside me, taking those small, wobbly steps. Then he turned and looked back at Zach as if to say, Come get me, Dad.
Not fully needing me, but not quite ready to let go either.
And I felt that moment so deeply.
This in-between space we're in—where he’s still my baby, but becoming something more every single day.
Of course… life kept reminding us that it doesn’t pause for meaningful moments.
That same day, I stepped on a tack and had to get a Tetanus booster.
The next morning, we found a sting at the top of Banks’s diaper.
What followed was one of those days that shifts everything into perspective.
I sat in the bath with him while he nursed, rinsing his little hived body with cool water.
We gave him Benadryl.
We watched him sleep for hours, monitoring every breath and every movement.
I held him close, not quite ready to put him down.
It was a day of rest, but not the peaceful kind.
The kind where your body is still, but your mind is racing. Where you’re grateful he’s okay, but you can’t quite shake the fear.
And yet… the next day, we got up and went to the safari park.
Because that’s what this season seems to be teaching me.
Joy has a funny way of finding us again.
You keep going.
You adjust.
You pivot.
You carry both the fear and the joy at the same time.
And there was joy.
So much of it.
Seeing animals. Being outside. Watching him experience something new. Letting the day feel light again, even after everything we had just walked through.
By the time we packed up and headed back to our camper in Tennessee, we were tired in every sense of the word.
And waiting for us there was reality.
Zach had just two days of work left.
No new job yet.
No destination decided.
Just us, standing at the edge of something unknown.
Preparing to pack up our life, leave Tennessee, and step into whatever came next.
The past season—February, March, and April—stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. It was heavy and beautiful, chaotic and meaningful all at once. There were moments of anxiety, uncertainty, and exhaustion.
But there was also so much life.
So much love.
So much growth.
One year into life with Banks.
One year of learning how to be his mom. Of holding him close while also slowly learning to let him grow. Of finding our rhythm, losing it, and finding it again.
Life isn’t neatly planned right now.
It isn’t tied up in a bow.
But if these past few months have taught me anything, it’s this:
Even in the middle of uncertainty, there is still so much to celebrate.
And I wouldn’t trade this messy, full, beautiful life for anything.
Happy first birthday, Banks.
You have no idea how much you are loved.
Next in the story: Leaving Tennessee and searching for The Last Campsite Left.
