My year with the man.

September 2011-September 2012 was the best, craziest, worst, scariest, most exciting, and least exciting year of my life. And now Labor Day 2012 has come and gone and I'm left wondering what the future holds.

Last Labor Day I became a mother at 6:26 p.m., when a cone-headed purple stranger came out of my uterus and started asking me for things. I probably should have known something wasn't quite right when my first reaction to this event was sheer terror, though I also suspect many women have felt the same but don't want to admit it.

As the first day folded into the first week I started to learn who this little purple person was, and I loved him. But I was still terrified. Every time my son reached a new developmental milestone or required a different type of care from me, I spent a week walking around with a lump in my stomach, certain I was unable to meet the challenge and certain that the terrifying situation was some sort of permanent change in my life. Hormones and fear were, at times, paralyzing forces in my life.

Now that a year has gone by, I have felt some of the stress melt away. In fact, I distinctly remember waking up a few weeks ago and feeling completely happy and content for the first time in quite a while. I know that I will be worried about C.J. forever -- I get that. But I also know that every time I think of my boy, my heart hurts because of how very much I love him. At the end of the day, I believe that's the salient point.

So what have I learned through this experience? I have learned that the first year of parenthood is actually pretty boring. You don't leave the house much. I have become a pretty big TV watcher, which I kind of hate. To make matters worse, I have found myself drawn to happy-go-lucky programs that require little mental investment. I guess I spend enough time worrying about my son that I don't really want to worry about world events, too. As this begins to change, I will stand behind my year of "Man vs. Food" and "19 Kids and Counting" as something I needed for mental health reasons.

I have also learned, for all the feminist notions I carried with me into this marital adventure, that I'm pretty much in charge of the parenting stuff. When I recently overreacted to a doctor's visit at which I was told my bottle-loving son was already supposed to be weaned, my husband suggested that maybe I should have read a book about feeding a 1-year-old. When I asked him why HE didn't read a book about feeding a 1-year-old, his reply was simple: "You're the mom."

Touche. I am the mom. There's a reason those NFL players say "Hi, Mom" after winning the Super Bowl and those scary biker types have heart-shaped "Mom" tattoos: because Mom was the one who read the book about how to comb out their cradle cap when they were four months old.

One other thing I have learned is that our culture really glorifies the concept of being busy. If you're not being pulled in a million directions, you're not a good parent, a hard worker, or a person of worth. I'm okay with the fact that there is not a lot going on in my life right now, and I'm okay with the fact that I sometimes have to tell people I can't do something even though I don't have a "good reason." I have vowed to raise my son to live in the moment and appreciate the simplicity life can hold without scheduling every minute of his day.

What else have I learned? Denying a baby the gift of sleep is cruel. Moms like to judge one another in even more detailed ways than I ever imagined. Kids develop at their own paces. Whole milk is delicious. "Zoey" is now a major character on Sesame Street.

And I've learned that when your baby smiles and hands you a book he wants you to read him, you truly learn the meaning of the phrase "melts my heart."

Now to hose C.J.'s dinner off the kitchen floor.