We did it. We survived a year. You turned one last Friday without a whole lot of fanfare (save for your mama waking you up singing happy birthday and standing over your crib with a balloon and your dad surprising you with a rocking horse in the living room).
There wasn’t a whole lot of hooplah on your actual birthday because we were saving it for Saturday—the day of THE big party.
Only it almost wasn’t.
We planned to have the whole Sesame Street-themed BBQ shindig at the park by Nonni and Poppa’s house. It was the perfect location, and we’d scouted it out many times before. It had a beautiful enclosed picnic area, plenty of BBQs and eight picnic tables—just the right amount for the number of people we were expecting. We’d be able to focus Saturday morning decorating the area (decorations, cake and favors were my jurisdictions) and it was going to be perfect.
The only ‘catch’ in the plan was that the park couldn’t be reserved. Not a problem, we figured—we’d only seen it in use ONCE in the six months we’d spent stalking the place.
Then the weather started to not cooperate. The weatherman continued to give me bad news as the week progressed: what originally was predicted to be 78 degree spring weather turned into 63 degrees and windy. Wind is not good when you’ve got a massive butter cream frosting cake that’s set to be the party’s centerpiece. Figuring most people don’t want lemon cake with a side of gnats and dirt, I reluctantly decided to assemble the cake toward the end of the party, take a few pictures, and start cutting it before it got too bug infested.
Then the bad news turned worse when Poppa walked down to the park that morning to be first in line to use the picnic area.
There were two other parties already waiting for their turn in the same area. One had gotten there at four in the morning, the other had been there since midnight.
This. Was. NOT. Good.
After a having a slight panic attack and seeing visions of the perfectly planned first birthday party fly out the window, I went into decision mode and went for the never-before discussed Plan B: having it in Nonni & Poppa’s backyard.
Three hours and massive amounts of texts to the party guests later, I was running around like a madwoman trying desperately to straighten up, assemble goody bags and find places to put crepe paper (note: that crinkly stuff is great for outdoor picnic areas, not so great for a formal living room). Sidenote: your Nonni & Auntie Ashlea deserve gold medals for coming through in the biggest way to ensure that your party went on without a hitch.
Fortunately, the most important thing—the one thing I’d hoped for and planned for the party—was that you were miraculously able to get a two hour nap in before the party. I don’t know how you did it, but I was most grateful because I wanted you to be smiling and happy for your big day. Baby + sleep = happy, right?
Except for the part of the equation that I’d overlooked while trying to get everything JUST so (like suddenly deciding that the utensils HAD to be bound together with a napkin and curly ribbon—really? Just before the party? What was I thinking?). I’d forgotten that Baby Baby + sleep – food =grumpy.
Cue the crying baby for the first half hour of her big event.
After a quick and thoughtful prayer from your Uncle Grant, I was finally able to sit down with you and give you food. You must’ve been hungry because you gave us a preview of what was to come later on with the cake by alternating hands and shoveling the rice and hot dog bits into your mouth. Your Uncle Grant stood by, mouth ajar, not able to believe how quickly you were able to wolf down your food and still grunt for more.
Then the watermelon came out. Two weeks ago, you loved watermelon, so I bought several for the party so it wasn’t one solid carbohydrate fest. Then you decided last week that you wanted nothing to do with the sweet summer fruit. Apparently, on Saturday, you liked it again, because as your father held you and visited with the Pat side of the family, you proceeded do scarf down three massive chunks of the stuff. And you weren’t pleased when it was taken away.
Cue the time for cake.
The cake, I’ll be honest, I was rather proud of. Your Auntie Tamara and I spent the better part of Thursday evening constructing the four tiered “Old School Abstract Sesame Street” cake that I had dreamed up months before. Despite making a minor boo boo with Big Bird’s nest (who knew that the haystack candy had to be made with already cooked chow mein noodles?), it was delicious. And pretty to look at, too:
In the days leading up to the party, I had an epiphany of sorts: giving you the six inch Elmo cake to eat was not a good idea because your past behavior has indicated that you don’t like having food taken away prematurely. I decided to make Elmo gluten free for some of daddy’s family members, and settled for making a large cupcake for you to gobble down in celebration of the big event.
You started with a nibble of frosting.
Then you ate ALL of the frosting.
Then you started in on the cake.
Sammie, it was like a sporting event. The guests crowded around and cheered you on as you ate handfuls of cake, barely coming up for air.
In fact, you ate it so quickly that your dad started taking it away because he feared you’d choke. On cake.
Who chokes on cake? We discussed the situation and he finally agreed to let me put the cupcake in front of you again.
Game on.
One minute later, that cupcake was a goner and you were covered in a mixture of chocolate crumbs and vanilla frosting.
"Operation Cupcake" was a success.
While the guests noshed on cake—which was amazing thanks to Auntie Tamara’s mad baking skills (and I should know because I had the leftovers for lunch and dinner for three days straight this week)—we moved on to the opening of the gifts.
I’ve never seen a baby do this before on their first birthday, but you took an interest in each and every thing I pulled out of the gift bags, and took time to play with each toy and article of clothing that came your way, much to the delight of the guests in Nonni and Poppa’s living room.
An hour later, the party over, the two of us schlepped over to the park with Melissa and her family. It’s a good thing we went with Plan B for your party—there were an insane amount of people (and a bounce house! Why didn’t I think of a bounce house?) in the picnic area.
Bounce house envy aside, it was here in the quiet moments of the park that it dawned on me just how lucky I was to be a mom to such an amazing little girl. While Melissa was off to chase down her little daredevils on the playground, you decided that I was your jungle gym of sorts: you crawled all over me and shook with excitement when I tickled your (very full) belly.
Yes, my darling Sammie—you may have turned one, but I got the good gift: a sticky, happy, and LOUD baby girl :-)
All my love,
your mama
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