As you’re reading this, maybe the guests are arriving. Or maybe the presents are being opened with much glee, scraps of colorful paper filling the air and Mom and Dad thinking, “Now where are we going to put THAT?”

Perhaps we’ve already moved on the joy — and the mess — of “1-year-old boy meets cake.”

Or perhaps it’s earlier. Maybe I’m still standing at the crib, looking at the sleeping blond child on the cusp of toddlerhood and wondering where the past year went.

Yes, today is my younger son’s birthday, and I’d be lying if I told you I’m not a little bit sentimental. It’s cliché, but it really does seem like yesterday that I was trooping off to the hospital, a week overdue and more than willing to meet the small person who loved to bounce on my bladder as I was trying to sleep each night.

He was reluctant to come play that day — as hours of increasing Pitocin and excruciatingly slow labor can attest. He hasn’t been reluctant to do anything ever since.

Crawl so fast he can’t stop and runs into things? Check. Climb onto the couch and try to somersault over the side? Check. Tackle his (much bigger) older brother in an effort to force a bit of fraternal attention? Check.

And, whatever he does, he’s always in a hurry.

On the other hand, life before Sam now seems a very long time ago. You mean there was a time when I had more hands than I had children? Really? I can barely remember.

It’s been an education. I never realized that having two kids is far more than double the work of having one.

It’s almost never getting a break, because chances are that if one isn’t demanding your attention, the other is (and then the other one will decide he needs attention, too).

It’s learning how to multitask far better than you could ever learn in an office. Try keeping your cool while changing a struggling baby with a messy diaper who’s attempting to crawl away from you while a preschooler hangs onto your leg wailing about needing a glass of juice ... or a potty break ... or the toy you took away from him five minutes before because he whacked his brother with it.

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It’s learning an entirely new personality and dealing with an entirely new set of challenges. Jim slept through the night when he was a month old. Sam ... well, Sam still isn’t sleeping through the night. Don’t we knew he’s STARVING? And while Jim gets upset if he thinks we’re reprimanding him, Sam just gets mad ... and shrieks at us (sometime he throws things, too).

But believe or not, I still think it’s worth it.

A few weeks ago, I watched Jim bend from the lofty height of preschoolerhood to invent a game and engage his brother with it. I think it’s the first time I saw him relate to the “baby” as to another child his own age, and it further cemented Sam’s impression of his big brother as The Coolest Person He Knows. I’m still not sure what the rules are — it seems to involve chasing each other and giggling and hiding toys — but they seem to get it. And that’s enough.

Maybe Jim recognized it before I did. The baby is no longer a “baby.”

Sam is likely to be our youngest — although I’ll never say never — and as I watch him menacing his brother’s toys and doing his darndest to walk, sometimes I miss the feeling of holding a slumbering newborn. All the firsts for him are, in a way, lasts for us — and, frankly, sometimes it makes me a little sad.

But you can’t make time stand still — not matter how much you might want (just a little bit) for it to do so. Walking and running and reading and school days are all in his future — and I’m looking forward to all of that, too.

So, happy birthday, dear Sam, and may you have many more in health and happiness.

Things are lot noisier and messier and far, far more exhausting since you arrived here ... but we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jill Keppeler is a page designer for Greater Niagara Newspapers. She can be reached at jill.keppeler@tonawanda-news.com.