Wednesday, May 29, 2013

every party has a pooper

At 6:40 this morning a little voice called down the hallway, "Hey, Mom. I have to poop. ... Is it my birthday? ... Where's my cake?"

If you haven't experienced an entire day with a four year old on his birthday (or the month leading up to it), then you haven't really lived.  The joy and excitement about it being his day was contagious.  When someone would wish him a happy birthday, he would respond, "Happy birthday!" He tried to get a sneak peak of his present when I was cleaning up Cheerios, and my thwarting of that plan upset little brother more than the birthday boy.

We had coffee and muffins at the place I frequented in college, and then as newlyweds, and then with our baby carrier.  These days our orders are usually "to go." Today, however, we stayed, and Bubby sat like a the big boy that he is and ate the entire death-by-chocolate-muffin by himself. At his ENT appointment today, they let him look in the expensive microscope because my inquisitive child asked so many questions. I silently prayed, "Please God, don't let him break it because that is not in our health plan," and had simultaneous thoughts of him growing to be a doctor someday.

There were presents, phone calls, and FaceTime appointments. After dinner, we stopped in for a fancy-schmancy cupcake because this child hadn't consumed enough chocolate for the day.  Once again there was not a Pinterest-worthy party, but I'm finding that as much as I love that website, most of my life is not Pinterest-worthy. And that is perfectly fine with me.

At 9:00 the boys are finally in bed, late, and the day ended similarly to how it began, "Mommy, I have to go poop again." 

Happy birthday, little boy!

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