Today was L’s nine-month birthday—a major milestone considering her short time here on Earth. I was lucky enough to get to spend the better part of the day solo with my baby girl while my wife tended to some schoolwork.

The two of us started the day over breakfast at our favorite local Greasy Spoon. L sat on my lap for most of the meal, chomping on a spoon and shredded (organic) cheese while I polished off an omelet.

Later, we spent the afternoon walking around town, chitchatting with friends and other babies (and desperately trying to get out of earshot of this hippie chick who was attempting to “sing” songs from the movie, “Once.” She was no Crystal Bowersox).

In between, L and I hung out in her room, crawling around, practicing walking and standing, playing with measuring cups (she loves to eat these) and reading some books.

We laughed a ton. We cuddled, too. I don’t think the kid cried once.

It was quite a different kind of Sunday for me. Before L came along, I usually spent Sundays glued to my computer, catching up on all of the assignments I put off from during the week. These days were so grueling, I remember I’d always spend dinner hating the notion of the “flexible” schedule of a freelancer. To put it mildly, I thought things never would change.

Thankfully, with L, they have. And so today wasn’t only a celebration of the first nine months of life, but a celebration of the first nine months of the new life she has carved for me. It’s amazing how one little human can dramatically transform everything. A happy birthday, indeed.