Cubby is a year old today.
Sweet baby boy. Even though he’s baby number six in the Non Stepford house, the bittersweet feelings never change. For some reason, I never fail to be *startled* and a bit weepy when it comes to first birthdays. Some how, it just never seems like it could possibly have been that long.
To go from this:
It just ought to take longer, somehow.
Even as precious as the day is, I have to admit to being a slacker mom.
Maybe it’s because I’m too lazy, too broke, or too practical. I’m not sure, but suspect it may be a combination of the three.
I honestly think that things have gotten more than a wee bit out of control when it comes to birthday parties for a one year old.
I know, Pinterest people are shrieking, if not falling down dead.
And honestly, I think Pinterest is a big part of the equation.
And the internet in general.
It seems that first birthday parties have become a yet another battlefield in the never ending Mommy Wars.
The more elaborate, the more attention to detail, the more time and money spent, the better Mommy you are.
Suzy had a DJ for Timmy’s first birthday. Better get a live band for Johnny’s.
Mary had a string quartet for Jenny’s. Better get the orchestra for Elliot’s.
Ann rented a room in the community centre for Mikey’s. Well, nothing less than a CASTLE will do for Davey’s.
I just don’t get it.
To me, a first birthday is an event for the *parents*. Kidlet doesn’t understand what’s going on.
Upon hearing Cubby’s first birthday was approaching, I was asked what the theme was. Theme? Uh…
“Well, you ARE having a party, aren’t you?!” the woman gasped.
Sure. Sort of. Well, ok, not really.
We have sherbet (Cubby seems to be sensitive to milk), a dairy free cake, and he gets a gift or two.
The woman paled, and seemed to stagger back a step. “What about guests?” she asked, horrified.
Uh, no. Just us.
Giving Cubby a look of pity, she scurried away, clucking to herself.
There are folks who seem to think that if you don’t put at least, if not more effort into a child’s first birthday than others do for a wedding, you’re a slacker.
*waves* Slacker Mom, right here.
And I’m totally ok with that.
Frankly, if spending weeks, if not months, planning, and plotting and crafting your little heart out pleases you, then hey, go for it! Whatever rocks your world. But don’t do it because you’ve some how gotten the message that you HAVE to, or SHOULD. Jr isn’t going to end up in therapy, crying about how he didn’t get a catered affair for a birthday that he can’t remember. Honest. And nobody’s going to show up and brand a huge scarlet SM (for ‘Slacker Mom’, of course) on your forehead.