I’m going to take a bold stance here—one that might ruffle the feathers of those who thrive on the drama of parental debates—but my child’s first birthday celebration is not going to be about him.
No bounce houses will occupy my yard, nor will there be an array of cartoon-themed decor, or elaborate collages showcasing my daughter’s first year. I have no intention of spending hours scrolling through Pinterest or emptying my wallet on Etsy for a party meant for a toddler who still has frequent diaper incidents and finds joy in chewing on remote controls.
Forget about splurging on a fancy cake, only for her to obliterate it and leave me with a 30-minute cleaning job. A professional photographer won’t be capturing these moments, because by the time I get around to hanging those photos, my daughter will likely be entering kindergarten.
As her first birthday approaches, I’ve come to realize that out of a playroom brimming with colorful, animated toys, her favorite is an unremarkable, old Tupperware bowl. This isn’t even a shiny new one; it’s the very same bowl that probably attended a family barbecue five years ago and got lost in the depths of my kitchen cabinet. I offered it to her one day while I was trying to cook ramen, and it somehow became her prized possession—almost as much as the socks she loves to pull off and taste.
But don’t get me wrong, we will be celebrating her special day. The real reason for the occasion is that my partner and I have navigated the wild ride of new parenthood for a whole year. We’ve tackled postpartum challenges, colic, and the relentless fatigue that comes with sleepless nights. We’ve taken our infant on planes, survived a grueling 10-hour road trip, and dealt with the inevitable messes that come with diaper duty.
Transitioning from a corporate job to being a stay-at-home mom was a challenge I underestimated. The loneliness can turn even the most resilient person into a bit of a wreck.
This past year has often left me in a state of anxiety and doubt. Yet, I know I’m not alone; despite the isolation, I’ve formed invaluable friendships with other new moms who understand the struggle. We all returned home from the hospital and that first week wondered, “Did I make a terrible mistake?”
We’ve shared meals with red eyes and baby spit-up on our shoulders, contemplated if romance still existed, and called our mothers in tears, pleading for help. We’ve all felt moments of despair, longing for the simplicity of life before kids. And yes, we’ve experienced the guilt of not cherishing every single moment, while silently wishing we could shove the well-meaning strangers in the grocery store who insist, “It all goes so fast.” We know it’s true, but when you’re in the thick of it, that sentiment feels distant.
However, before you label me as the world’s most uncaring mother, I must clarify that we’ve also savored those heart-melting giggles, the sweet firsts that make everything worthwhile, and countless precious moments that fill our hearts with joy.
So, while I might not be fussing over the details of an extravagant birthday bash, I’ll be raising a glass (or two) of mimosas as I celebrate surviving this rollercoaster of a year.
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In summary, this celebration isn’t just for my daughter; it’s a toast to all the trials and triumphs of the past year. Here’s to surviving the chaos of motherhood!