Alfie is one y-o

Alfie, today's August 18 and that means you're one year old. Happy birthday. Thanks for being born and fun, for taking so much space in the bed, for the midnight wake up calls, and for making Dad always want to go home and to even cancel some of his trips. Happy growing, Son. But stay cute.

You can almost walk without help now. You have four teeth. You play with your toys and you can even demand your right to food and all. That's good, Son. You've got character already.

Sorry for sometimes being so busy when you ask me to play with you. But it's OK, you can tear down the new newspapers as you like (but not Dad's comics, please). You can play with the remote controls. You can even throw your mini black jeep to the door or hide Mom's stuff. Don't be shy.

Don't worry we're not gonna force you with all those 'teach-your-baby-how-to's now. You take your time, enjoy your toys, and study whenever you like. But when you can read later, don't rush into Mom's novels or Dad's non-fictions -- because they're probably boring to you. Dad still keeps his Winnetous for you -- the old Pradnja Paramita editions. But he will understand if by the time you can enjoy books, you prefer PlayStation or something like that. Just make us proud in your own way. You don't need to become economist like Dad or an accountant like Mom. Hey, professional painter or pianist sounds great, too. Or mathematician or computer scientist or sport columnist or whatever.

Again, happy birthday.