A Year Of Unexpected Moments

Do you ever have an idea of how something is gonna go… and then, well, it doesn’t cooperate?

When Barrett turned 1, we celebrated. We had a huuuuuuge partay. Tons of family and friends. Because gosh darn it, our baby was one, and that was the biggest thing that could happen to a life. Or so it felt after the first grueling year of parenthood. We ordered a rather expensive cake, we decorated, we took hundreds of photos. Because truly it was a big deal.

And then when Jonah turned 1, we decided to rock the casbah. We planned a party with booze and friends because, gosh darn it, we had survived another first year, and our second babe had reached the incredible milestone of 12 months on the planet. Again… big cake. Decorations. Photos galore.

And Harrison. Oh poor little unbaptized, non-godparented, non-first birthday celebrationed Harrison. It’s not that we don’t love him the same. It’s that we are slow moving with this kid. We’ve yet to baptize him… but I think he and God are still good. And the Godparents situation… that comes with the baptism. And the first birthday bash… well… his birthday is in December. And daddy was out of town on work. And the week was nutzo. So we have yet to have a proper celebration. If you would have told me five years ago that I would forgo a birthday party for one of my own children and use any of those excuses… work travel… the holiday season… crazy week… I would have told you to board your crazy train and move on down the track. But it really happened. And I am sure it’s excellent material for a future therapist to work with.

I did manage to give my right arm for dairy-free cupcakes. Of note, should you choose to buy dairy-free cupcakes on a Wednesday, let’s just say, then eat them on Wednesday because if you should, instead, open them on Friday evening, they will be hard cinder block cakes instead of soft cupcakes. And, when you then decide that you will all choke down cupcakes in order to have the ceremony of it all, please remember that only you can prevent forest fires.

As you can imagine, I took this like a champ. And laughed it off. When the video cut off, I laughed and kissed his little hand and winked at the husby.

Except for the fact that I didn’t do ANY of those things.

No. Instead, I screamed in my loving husband’s face about it being the worst first birthday celebration ever, stomped out of the room, and cried in my dairy-free cupcake {hey, at least I made it more moist that way. And yes, I am one of those people who hates the word moist.} like a 12 year old. Because that is completely acceptable behavior. I know what you’re wondering. You’re wondering why I didn’t make sure the baby was actually okay first… well, that didn’t occur to me until I’d had a brief pity party. And I’d told myself that it was my pity party and I could cry if I want to. {Sorry… seemed too easy.}

After I had my little fit, I did decide it was high time I re-enter the room and make sure my child had not suffered any life-altering burns. And thankfully, he escaped such fate. I wiped the mascara from under my eyes, and we all ate hard cupcakes together and toasted to Harrison. And his year full of unexpected moments.

We still have intentions of having some sort of celebration after the calendar officially flips to 2015. Especially now that the cake does not have to be non-dairy. We’ve thrown around the idea of having a party around his homecoming date. And we’ve even talked about having a party and baptism combined. Hey, maybe we ought to wait until March and we’ll throw in a March Madness pool while we’re at it. Or we could even just combine it with Jonah’s in June and have a 1/2 birthday party. The options on delaying this celebration are endless. The world is our oyster.

Regardless, I feel as though this poor kid has gotten the shaft. Maybe that’s why I’m still nursing him. And carrying him around whenever he wants. Which is about 82% of the time. Or maybe, the delayed party is really about my not wanting to acknowledge he’s actually already past one. And that our baby isn’t really a baby anymore.

nah.

Pretty sure he’s just the youngest of three. And we’ve got our shit much less together on this go round. Fire safety included. Apparently.