Bobby’s not getting a first birthday party.
He’s great, my third child. He’s a dream. I say it all the time. Happiest baby ever. By far.
Honestly, I feel bad for the other two. Cause if it was a competition (which it’s clearly not) and if I did have a favourite (which I don’t and never would) he’d be an easy front runner.
He’s sweet, funny, chubby and full of joy. His giggles makes baby birds fly in the windows and dress him like a Disney character.
Well I think you get the point here. Bobby is awesome. I love Bobby. Everybody loves Bobby.
But he’s not getting a birthday party.
You see, Bobby, while turning one next week, is still very young. He doesn’t need (or want) a birthday party because he doesn’t know what parties are. Or what birthdays are for that matter.
He’s a baby. And like all babies, enjoys milk, sleeping, pooping, and touching toilets. He really doesn’t give a shit about birthday parties. Not his own or anyone else’s.
He typically likes to sleep all afternoon, which is when birthday parties are typically held, so even if I did have a party for him, he’d probably miss it.
But the cake smash! the Cake! Nope. He’s had cake. His siblings have birthdays. Sure, I’ll let him smash a slice, but no I’m not making or buying him a beautiful cake just to smash for a photo – op and then immediately tear away before he has “too much sugar”. Nope. He’s good. We’ll take his picture. And even if we don’t, he’ll still turn one.
But you have to celebrate! It’s his first birthday! he’s one! Come on.
Yes. You’re right. You’re completely right. But you see, I had parties for the other two when they turned one. And in doing so, realized that first birthday parties for aren’t really for the 1 year olds, they’re really for the moms.
So I’m not having a party for Bobby.
I’m having a party for me.
I celebrate my kids everyday. I cheer them on, praise them, love them, treat them every single day of their lives.
I give my heart and soul and every ounce of my energy to my babies. Especially in the first year of their lives. Sleepless nights, endless cuddles, feeding, loving, giving, giving and giving.
This time, I’m celebrating me. Me keeping Bobby, his siblings and myself alive for the last year.
I’m proud of that. I’m so proud of myself for what I do. I love being a mom, but it’s a hard ass job. And I do it with my heart on my sleeve and give them everything I’ve got. That deserves to be celebrated.
All my friends are moms too. And they deserve to be celebrated too. So I’m inviting all of them to my party. We are willing to give up time, energy and money for a party for a 1 year old who will not remember it, just to have a few pictures and a mess to clean up? No thanks. I’m doing it all for me this time:
I deserve a party. That’s that.
This past year, I’ve survived stomach bugs, sniffles, and everything in between. I’ve powered through potty training. I’ve battled bed-wetting. Kissed my kindergartener Goodbye as he stepped on the bus for the first time. I’ve breastfed. I’ve birthed. My nipples have bled. And so have many other parts of me. I’ve comforted, cuddled, coddled, loved, and scrubbed every inch of these babies.
This baby, lovely and sweet as he is, has not done much more than eat, sleep and poop. So while I’m happy to celebrate his life, because a joyous occasion it is, this party doesn’t need to be in his honour.
It needs to be in mine.
I need a party. And so do all my friends.
Because they too have given it all for their children. This year and every other.
I love parties.
I do. I love having friends around. I love being surrounded by my people. I love music, and noise and laughter. I love cake and presents. I love wine and cheese. I love letting loose and having a good time. Parties are my thing, and throwing parties for my friends makes me sooo happy. And I throw a damn good party if I do say so myself.
So although I do deserve this party, I don’t need to deserve it. I can just have a party because I love parties. I can just celebrate life, be it life I made or life I’ve lived or the very life I’ve been blessed to live this very day. I just love to celebrate, and this time, it’s all about me.
And by the way, no one else was about to throw me a party. If I didn’t do it, it might never have happened. I waited through 3 pregnancies for someone, anyone, to throw me a baby shower. Three newborn babies for someone to show up with a pastel cake. It never happened. I felt alone, lonely, unappreciated. I felt insignificant. I thought my friends didn’t love me. I thought my family didn’t care I was having babies.
But look, no one is going to throw you a party you don’t ask for, not when you’re an adult. Sorry, mama, it’s just not going to happen. No matter how much you deserve it. I’m a grown-ass adult and if I want a party, it’s up to me to make it happen. Isn’t that the whole point of growing up? So we can do what we want? I want a party.
Listen, you can keep having parties for your babies.
Hey if that’s your thing. More power to you. Throw another party for someone else. But don’t go doing all the work and then complain about never being appreciated. At least in this case you have a choice. For me, the choice was easy. I’ll take pics of Bobby eating cake. But these celebrations are about me spending time with people I love.
This includes my children, friends, and family.
Celebrating motherhood, it’s trials and hilarity and the over all accomplishment it is just to keep everyone’s limbs attached day in and day out.
Being a mom is hard. Being a grown up is hard. But it doesn’t have to be boring. What do you want to be doing? Is it having a party for yourself? Cause if it is. I say to do it. And if you’re sitting there wondering what it is that you do want. I say figure it out. Cause this, right here, is what you’ve been waiting for. This is your life.