The calender and your mother tell me a year has past since your early arrival ruined our plans for one last date night. Not that I'm bitter about that but it is a nice little story to hang over your head on occasion. Just like how, every once in a great while, I remind your mother that I turned down a date with Britney Murphy for her (don't tell her, but I'm endlessly glad I did).
You and your brother have sure made recalling this past year in detail near impossible. It's all a blur of no, stop, hold still, go to sleep, aaahhhh, and shit. And though the person who you will become is still a mystery I have learned a few things about you thus far.
You have my appetite and metabolism. You're only one but you have the caloric intake of a 16 year old.
Wu Tang Clan. Ozzi was the first. Then came Cuddlefish for your love of nuzzling and your ability to turn red at the drop of a very angry hat. Q, droppin' some robotic science, coined Ozbot and it stuck like glizzue fo' shizzue. Shortly after that you started training for Everest and I christened you Reinhold Messner.