Last week an invitation arrived in the mail addressed to my 10 month old son. The card was emblazoned with a goofy dinosaur and accompanied by a rhyme about turning one. Initially I was quite proud. My little one was already being invited to parties, a sure sign that I must be parenting successfully. Then I started to wonder, how do you celebrate a one year old's birthday? I envisioned the kid parties of my youth filled with cake and ice cream, party hats, streamers, and a spirited rendition of Happy Birthday. You can imagine my shock when I walked into what I can only describe as birthday party hell.
Let's start at the beginning. We were late. We weren't super late, but just late enough to walk into an already overflowing home. A sign posted on the door asked the guests to kindly leave their shoes outside. A quick glance revealed why. The house was absolutely spotless. I could see my reflection in the hardwood floors and the carpeting in the living and dining rooms were a dazzling shade of white. It was hard to believe that any human, let alone toddler inhabited this home. I grudgingly kicked off my ballet flats. My feet were well past due for a pedicure. I was already ashamed.
My husband, son, and I proceeded to the living room where we were met with disinterested looks from fellow parents. I made a beeline for the host, the only adult I knew. It wasn't that easy. All around me were pretentious parents cradling babies with hip, up and coming names like Cadence, or overly pretentious ones like Aleister. And they were all dressed to the nines. My son was sporting his signature sock monkey hat and stained grey pants. We stuck out like a sore thumb.
I craned my neck searching for presents, hats or anything that would indicate that this was indeed a child's party. There wasn't any. Instead there was a swatch of carpet strewn with eco friendly, educational toys. Exotic looking babies poked at an assortment of play things made from recycled milk jugs while their pin thin mothers boasted about their baby's achievements. Cadence is learning Mandarin and already a prodigy, one woman proudly announced. I didn't hear the Mandarin but the drooling prodigy seemed quite content gnawing on a wooden block.
Despite my best efforts, I never did make it to the host. The doorbell rang and the entertainment arrived. Yes, entertainment. But this wasn't just any entertainment it was "her." Flowing peasant skirt, hair long overdue for a wash, and a guitar slung over bare shoulders that were adorned with colorful tatoos. Unbeknownst to me this tatted songstress had a huge following among the mommy crowd and was famous for her brain expanding folk tunes. After a long exaggerated sigh, she adjusted her guitar and began to sing. My son, who I was carrying, immediately began arching is back and wailing like he was being water boarded. Who could blame him? Her song sounded as good as Phoebe's rendition of "Smelly Cat" on Friends. I could feel the icy cold stares from the other parents. I muttered something about a dirty diaper and made my way to the kitchen.
To my surprise there was another mother cradling a baby. A kindred spirit? Was her child averse to brain expanding folk tunes as well? I approached slowly and introduced myself. She had an 11 month old son. I'm sure she told me his name but I honestly can't remember. It was something unusual like Tobias or Phlox. All I could think of was dentures. The kid was already sporting a full set of teeth. Dentures was busily chomping on what appeared to be cereal from a tin. "Cheerios,"I asked, trying to make small talk.
"Veganic sprouted grain cereal," she replied in a most condescending tone.
Is veganic even a word? That was the last straw. I gathered my child and husband and left the party. Shell shocked, defeated, and exhausted, I stuffed my un-pedicured feet in my ballet shoes and hustled to the car.
In two months my son will turn one and there will be a party. However there will be no veganic sprouted grains, children named Phlox, or entertainment from Tito Jackson, the Wiggles or greasy haired, brain expanding hippies. There will however be ice cream and cake. Full fat, sugar laden ice cream and cake, cheesy party hats and a very spirited, albeit off key rendition of Happy Birthday.
