It wasn't until after I broke the middle toe on my left foot and started breaking out in welts from invisible mosquitoes on what was one of the most humid days in the history of New York City that I realized how emotionally fatigued I was in hoping to give my daughter the best birthday weekend I could possibly muster.
But I failed miserably to pull the birthday weekend extravaganza off like I had intended. First off, for a child whose birthday falls on a Saturday, it is incumbent upon the parents to provide a birthday weekend, which starts Thursday night and ends Monday morning. I was already starting to get nervous about this weekend two months ago. Too many details to possibly sort out as I had already promised her a school birthday party, which is a parental must at the pre-school she attends. And I had promised her a real birthday party on her actual birthday, the lovely Saturday, August 21st. I knew I was now in for more than I could/should/wanted to/needed to handle. Also, we had to squeeze in our traditional outing to dinner in the Little Italy neighborhood for spaghetti and gelato. Really...what was I thinking? You know that invincible feeling you get when you take something on you think would be a great idea at the time, only to approach the obligation with trepidation, fear, and anxiety? Why do we do that to ourselves? And I am uncomfortably laden with burgeoning pregnancy in a NYC heat wave. I guess I just couldn't resist granting my daughter what she was going to experience over her birthday weekend...sheer pleasure.
Thursday night we made the Dora castle cake, as you may have read about. We busily readied for the school party. We filmed her frosting the cake. Her presents had already been wrapped that day and hidden under a sheet she didn't notice. We read countless books and let her stay up a little longer. After all, it was the eve of the eve of her birthday, so it was official and celebratory.
Friday was her big day at school. It also happened to be the school's annual summer BBQ. A multitude of details had to be worked in a matter of minutes with three overwhelmed teachers to carve out my daughter's turn and time in the spotlight. It had to be special because the precedent already established by the previous moms who laid out fabulous spreads for the their child's turn at the birthday celebration was astronomical.
My heart was beating wildly and I broke into a sweat. Her thirty minutes of fame went well, it turned out, even though the lead teacher rushed the children through their cakes to stay on schedule for naps. Like anyone was going to sleep after the sugar they'd just consumed from cake, pink-purple frosting, and chocolate ice cream. The hand-painted gift bags were distributed. Were there enough? Did everyone get theirs? Was my daughter able to make her exit from school in great fashion? Off to the the 99 cents store to let her pick out two helium birthday balloons she'd had her eye on for months. Now, the evening of the eve of her birthday approached and we packed her in the car to take her to her restaurant outing. Later, back at home, she was allowed to open a box of presents from one of her grandmothers. Was she ever going to go to sleep?
Saturday morning...the big day. She was sung to and got to open a present in bed. Phone calls started coming in for her. Next, her favorite cereal for breakfast in her favorite outfit. Then to the neighborhood pool for swimming. Back at the house, I quickly put all the birthday party belongings together. Not only had I promised her a birthday party on her birthday, but I was having it at my friend's house who practically lives on the Hudson River...not easy to get to. Again, what was I thinking? My friend convinced me her courtyard was the best place. I schlepped food, drinks, balloons, gift bags, and decorations across the Williamsburg bridge and across Manhattan. Thank goodness we owned a car. When we got there I realized I had forgotten the children's Cd's and really anything for the kids to do. I was mortified. To top it off, one of the boys let my daughter's helium balloons float into the sky. She broke out into a cry with giant tears rolling down her face. The grill wasn't working. Quick, Dad, go buy another balloon and fix the gas line while I entertain everyone by telling the joys of being hugely pregnant at 46 in 90 degree heat. Good thing another boy's dad brought three squirt guns and the courtyard had a hose. The kids and adults all enjoyed soaking each other for the next hour while corn, turkey hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken made their way off the grill. The cupcakes then came out to populate the table. Everyone was happy. One neighborhood girl showed up and we were a gift bag short. Humiliating. But the party took its course and people began to leave. I sat exhausted in my friend's apartment. My daughter played until 11 PM. I had tried my hardest. Nothing else to do except eat more cupcakes!
You think it's over? No. The birthday morphed into Sunday. The "I am Four Years Old" button remained on. The balloon-adorned scooter was paraded on the sidewalk. Two more birthday presents were delivered. A playdate was scheduled. O.k. 7PM. "Honey, did you have a wonderful birthday?" Time to get ready for bed. You can play with your new presents for an hour.
Monday morning, today: A new purple outfit and lots of singing and skipping on the way to school, new purple purse in hand and purple barrettes and flowers in hair. "I am really four years old!"
Is it terrible to say that now that I am back at home and the wrapping paper, presents, leftover cupcakes, new clothes, birthday cards, and other general mayhem have all been put in proper place, I can let out a shriek of relief that it is over and I can move on with my life? My lesson? While pregnant in your forties, keep it simple!
No comments:
Post a Comment