I’ve always had mixed feelings about baby birthday parties. In some ways, sure: go all out, do that Elmo-themed party, and why not hire an elephant while you’re at it? I mean, they’re only one once. On the other hand, they’re only one once: this is probably the last time you can conceivably spend the day in a totally mundane manner and still get away with it.
There was something oh-so-beautiful about yesterday. It rained. I was sleepy. We walked with the dog and went to the library. We folded laundry and played under the sheets. I put food coloring in Charlotte’s yogurt at lunch and watched her paint the table (and bean salad, and cheese, and bread, and the dog’s head) blue.
Then my parents came over, and we ate cake.
What can I say? It really doesn’t get any better than this.
After the cake episode we stuck her in the bathtub, and she was asleep by 7. No tears, to trips to the ER, no nonsense. If that’s not a successful birthday, I don’t know what is.