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Today is my birthday.

I could say that a lot has changed in a year, but that would be a vast understatement.

Last year at this time, I don't even remember where I was. I know that I've had a streak for about 6 years now where I've been out of town on business on my birthday every year. So, I know I was somewhere, I just don't recall where.

This year, I haven't left the house since last week Sunday.

Last year, my personal lexicon included the word "poopy" but it was rarely used. Usually if I pulled that one out it was to describe someone's ratty personality or the countertops in my upstairs bathroom.

This year, I not only use the word "poopy" every day, but I have composed two whole songs about things that are poopy. (I'd sing them for you, but I'm hoping to enter both in that American Idol songwriter competition.)

Last year I had a measure of modesty. I could have told you with absolute certainty the fairly small number of people who had seen my hoo-ha and it would never even occur to me to mention my breasts in polite conversation.

This year, my modesty has been shredded into oblivion, a number of people approaching the population of a small country have peered into my nether regions, and I considered snapping a photo of my child breastfeeding just to capture the angelic look she has on her face during that time. (Fear not, I didn't actually do it - discretion took a final stand on that one and reminded me that a photo of a boobie is a photo of a boobie, no matter how utilitarian a pursuit in which it may be engaged.)

Last year my house was still in the utter chaos of a home remodel.

This year my home is mired in the utter chaos of baby gear.

Last year I was me, a fairly happy-go-lucky person who probably worked too hard and didn't sleep enough. I knew that I wanted to have children "someday" but I didn't know if I could really handle it. I'd worked hard for, gotten used to, and enjoyed my lifestyle. I could pick up and travel any old time I wanted to, and something about that freedom was very appealing. I didn't know if I was ready - or ever would be ready - to change all of that.

This year I'm someone's mom. I still don't sleep enough. I still worry that I won't be able to handle my life changing. I still can't believe that "someday" is here, and despite the 9 months of preparation, I still feel like someone should have made me pass an exam before handing me a baby and letting me take it home.

This year, I feel important, even if it's only to one little, tiny person, and even if it's only because, for now, I'm just the chuck wagon. Maybe I'm getting a little stir crazy being home, or maybe I'm just getting way too sappy, but I am awed that that little person depends on me. If there's anything she needs, I'd gladly do it for her. I think about the things I "gave up" and it's almost funny to me how important they seemed a year ago, and how I fretted about giving them up, when now they don't even register anymore on my personal scale of what's what.

Last year, I didn't "get it."

This year, I probably still don't really "get it" but at least now I've realized there's something there for me to get.