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Broke Wife, Big City
Birthday
By Aprill Brandon
I have a confession to make. And I realize by confessing this, there is
a very good chance I will be thrown against the closest available car
hood, handcuffed in the non-kinky way and hurled into one of those
torture cells that don’t let you fully stand up by a mob of lithe,
blonde, yoga moms who all became friends via Pinterest.
But, consequences be damned. I have to get this off my chest.
My baby, my beautiful, amazing baby, turns one-year-old in less than
two weeks.
Yes! I know! Big deal, right? Huge, major milestone, deal!
And…here it goes…(sigh)…I don’t have anything planned yet.
OK, Heather, Stacy and Taylor, you can put the handcuffs on now.
The worst part is that this lack of planning isn’t even something I can
blame on the baby. (Although if anyone asks, that’s exactly what I’m
going to do. The only reason to have children is so that you have a
cherubic-faced scapegoat readily available for any and all occasions).
It’s not like he’s kept me so busy I couldn’t find a spare minute or
two to make a list of people to invite. And then write out those
invitations. And then plan a menu to feed all those people. And then a
separate menu list just for the booze (because I think it’s cruel to
invite people to a kid’s birthday party without offering them copious
amounts of alcohol as compensation for showing up). And then, like,
games or some crap for the people who show up with their own demon
spawn. And then bake a fancy, Spiderman-themed, three-tiered,
professional-looking cake that according to Facebook every other mom is
capable of not only doing but doing while also making it vegan and
gluten-free.
Technically, I do actually have the time to do all that stuff if I
really wanted to (although it would be a great personal sacrifice
considering it would severely cut down on my “X-Files” marathon
watching time). And I really do want to celebrate this important event
in my son’s life. I mean, he’s my favorite person in the world and I’ve
celebrated far lesser events in his life so far, such as the day he got
more than half of the green beans on his plate into his mouth as
opposed to on the floor.
But the reasons I haven’t planned anything yet are because:
I’m just not that mom. I’m never going to be that mom. My kid will be
the one with the last-minute toilet paper mummy Halloween costume and
store-bought birthday cakes that say “Congratulations, Julie!” because
I forgot to order one ahead and took whatever was readily available).
And…
We don’t have any family living close by and very few of our local
friends have kids close to my son’s age. And…
He’s not even going to remember this event.
I know, I know. None of that should matter. According to modern mommy
standards, I should still throw a huge party complete with organic
balloons and artisan party favors and an exotic, free-range petting zoo
and little marshmallow Olaf appetizers, even if the invited guests are
all non-baby-having grown-ups who probably have better things to do on
the weekend.
However, a part of me, the selfish part, would rather celebrate the
fact my husband and I kept him alive for an entire year. I mean, my
baby did absolutely nothing to help himself get to this milestone. If
anything, he worked actively against surviving to the one-year mark.
But even I know it’s wrong to hire a babysitter to watch your baby on
his birthday as you two go out to the bar to celebrate your parental
prowess.
(Right? That’s wrong. Right? Or is it? Could we do that? No, no, no,
it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong).
So, just how will we celebrate Riker’s birthday? I still have no idea.
But I’m sure I’ll think of something the day before and drive myself
insane trying to put it together in 24 hours.
And then just scrap the whole idea entirely three hours before showtime
and text everyone to meet us Chuck E. Cheese.
Or the closest available semi-kid-friendly bar.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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