While doing
a little spring cleaning, which turned into summer cleaning, I stumbled upon
old photos of one of my sons. All the memories of his first birthday party came
tumbling back, I wanted to cry…because I was stressed that day. We both were.
The invites
were sent out, the cake was ordered, all we needed to do was how up at the
location and have fun. Ha! Before we could arrive at the fun part, I had to
wrap my son in a bear hug to comb his hair. Tears streamed down his face like a
rain shower as I pulled on his tangled mound.
It took
several wrestle holds to get my son dressed. “Put your leg in,” I said as I
guided his little leg into his corduroy pants. He was not providing an
assistance at all. Was I expecting too much?
We were
getting closer to the hour of fun. We lived a couple of hours from family, so the
party was planned closer to them. I packed my over night bag and crammed,
bottles, formula, and diapers into my sons’ bag. A December birthday meant
pulling on bulky coats and stuffing our feet into boots.
Finally, I strapped
my son in his car seat, and pulled his coat back off, so he wouldn’t get too
hot during the ride. It was like a parenting Olympics – Next up is Angela,
in lane one of the marathon called getting through the toddler years.
Sunshine
warmed the car, hints of snow cover the trees along the highway. My son dropped
his head and drifted off to sleep, and I listened to a book on tape. We were in
our happy place and 60 miles closer to our fun spot.
Upon arrival
at our destination, part two of the parenting Olympics began – unloading everything
from the car. However, this time we had help. Joining Team Verges was my
mom, my best friend and whomever else was standing around. We got settled in
and ready to greet guests.
More
toddlers arrived in their parents’ arms. Bigger kids came, carrying the diaper
bags that belonged to their sibling toddler. We had party hats, streamers, noise
makers, and of course cake. It was soon time for everyone’s favorite part of the
party – singing happy birthday. Everyone except my son, was happy.
The chorus
of friends and family screamed, I mean, sang happy. My son began crying.
I’m not sure whether he didn’t like our voices or we just startled the poop out
of him. We rushed through our version of happy birthday, I helped him blow out
the candle, then gave him one of the toy trucks from his birthday cake.
First
birthday party was a success…I think. People had fun, it just wasn’t the guest
of honor and his parents.
We survived
the toddler years, the school-aged years, and we’re now growing into adulthood.
As he grows, I grow. I wouldn’t trade anything for my journey.
Go through an
old photo album and see what fond memories you stir up. Remember…Laughter Helps,
in any situation.
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