First Birthdays are Big Birthdays

My son will be two tomorrow. We’re late to the baby game; most of the kids who have called me Auntie over the years are approaching double digits, about to be preteens. And since the first of them was born (15-ish years ago), I’ve had one Auntie Rule: I only attend first birthday parties. That’s it. There are so many kids in my family that if I attended everyone’s parties, all I’d ever do is sit at Wunderland and eat at Chuck E. Cheese – two places that make me want to drink copious amounts of alcohol and jump off the side of a building. So, you get me at your baby’s first birthday, where I’ll photograph cake smashes and bring fun presents; and then I don’t want to be invited to another birthday ever again.

 

Surprisingly to other people, but unsurprisingly to me, I feel the same about my own child. I was really excited to have a big, fun, themed and decorated first birthday party last year, and now I don’t want to be invited anymore.

 

Oh wait; he’s my kid…I have to do the inviting. Dammit.

 

For a planner like me, the actual planning of the big, crazy, themed first birthday wasn’t stressful; it was actually pretty fun. Grant was obsessed with Curious George at this time last year, so we went with that them and held the party at a local park that had space to fit our giant family and all of our friends. I ordered the perfect little smash cake, knowing full well he’s a neat and tidy kid who would never smash a cake in his pristine little fingers (spoiler: I was right; he used the monkey cake topper as a fork and didn't even need his face washed when he was done). I picked up balloons, ordered primary colored tablecloths and paper products; we even made goodie bags for the other kids, even though I hate goodie bags and think most other parents do too. Like, here, have a bag of crap I found at the Dollar Store (just kidding, it was from Amazon); don’t worry, it’s red & yellow so it’s themed! But it was his first birthday, and it was really important to me that he get the day all of his cousins got on previous years – all of them together, having fun, eating cake, playing at the park.

 

The less fun part of planning a birthday party, is that your kid’s first birthday isn’t necessarily a priority to everyone, so much as it’s a priority for you. I was really disappointed by how many of Grant's cousins weren’t there, especially after all of my years of showing up to first birthday parties (sans child of my own) to celebrate with my own cousins and their kiddos. Don't get me wrong, we had a great party and a great First Birthday Week; there were lots of friends and family who were there to celebrate with us - but there were a handful of people who didn't show up, and I had some feelings about it.

I still have some feelings about it.

That feeling left me wondering; are you really throwing the party for your one-year-old, if you’re going to be bummed out when people he doesn’t even really know don’t show up? Or are you throwing the obligatory event because you know that’s what moms are supposed to do, and then a year later, your feelings are still a bit hurt and your now almost-two-year-old doesn’t even remember he ever liked Curious George because now he only cares about horses and moo cows? Grant didn't know it was his birthday, didn't know why we were giving him cake, why we were singing to him or lighting a candle in his face, why we were opening a mountain of toys; he cared specifically about exactly one thing: the swings. He is not the one with memories of the cake topper or the "I'm one" tee shirt saved in his memory box; I am.

I don't think I know anyone who didn't throw a party for their baby's first birthday, or who doesn't plan to throw one. I also don't know any child who now remembers turning one or having a party. But I am willing to bet that moms everywhere would think you were a total psychopath if you didn't through your baby a first birthday party. I've had numerous people ask why we aren't throwing him a second birthday party, in fact.

Well for one, we're in the middle of a global pandemic, and I am trying to not catch a Coronavirus, you lunatics.

None of this is to say that birthdays after turning one are not a big deal. I am actually the queen of going all out for birthdays; I just think parties are not the way to go all out. I'd prefer Grant share his birthday with a small circle, on an adventure that he'll love. Besides, I have the First Birthday Rule, where only first birthdays get big themed, color coordinated parties. We do birthday adventures now. Tomorrow we are taking Grant tomorrow to a local, family-owned farm to have a tour and feed some animals, which will be the adventure of his lifetime at two years old. We'll go get a cupcake at Fat Cupcake too, and I'll probably shop online at Carters with his birthday coupon because he's a giant and growing like a freaking weed. I hung horse and moo cow streamers in the dining room windows last night, and he's thrilled by them - we may have to keep them up for the whole year, in fact. His grandparents & Uncle Tony are coming over tonight for cake - a cake which I decorated myself to look like a muddy barnyard - and ice cream with raspberries. We didn't even get him a present this year - he has too many toys already and really only plays with 3 things anyway: Grandma Horsey, one baby doll, and two green plastic cups from his play kitchen. What else is there, am I right??

Anyway. Have a birthday party. Don't have a birthday party. Risk Covid-19 to prove you're a good party mom, or maybe don't. Buy a six dollar chocolate cake and a bag of candy, and have at it; anyone can be a cake designer in 2020! This topic strays a bit from mom shame brought on by everyone else, and brings to light the fact that moms also tend to invite a lot of shame onto themselves.

There is no reason to do that. Mom shame is unacceptable from other moms, unacceptable from other humans, and is also unacceptable from yourself.

You're a good mom whether or not you throw parties, whether or not you remember to pick up a candle, whether or not you fail at cake design. No one year old knows who was at his birthday party; no two year old likes anyone enough for them to come over and have a birthday party. You're doing just fine, despite what Pinterest tells you about your lack of theme-ing for your parties. You're a good mom because you love your child, because you work hard every day to celebrate his existence, because you provide him with everything he needs to be happy and healthy in the world...even his own face mask, which he absolutely will not wear. You're a good mom because you go to sleep every night only after brushing his teeth, reading him a story, watching the same movie for the 87th time, giving him all of the snuggles and all of the smooches, and scooting yourself to the edge of the bed because he prefers to have his head and all of his hair on YOUR pillow, not his.

These are my reasons; the reasons I know I am a good mom, even if we never have another birthday party in our lives.

Think about it, and add your reasons to the list.

What makes you a good mom??

I promise you, it's not birthday cake and matching balloons.

#endmomshaming

 

 

 

Nurse Eyeliner, At Your Service

If you came to meet Grant at the hospital, I have almost no memory of your visit. I know that Blake watched my catheter bag fill up with pee, and I remember Kattie brought me the best Jamba Juice I’d ever tasted. That’s about it. 

Sweet, sweet postpartum medications.

Grant was born at 12:18pm on June 19th, and we were back in our room by about 1:30; I know I had visitors that afternoon and evening, and the next day as well - my mom and dad, my brother, Karen, Stacey & Blake, my MIL and FIL, and my BIL and SIL - but I don’t really remember anyone being there. I was so uncomfortable, so scared, so excited, so in love, and in so much pain. I had a catheter and was trying to get my baby to latch and wanted to get up and was terrified of accidentally seeing my own incision. I was starving and numb and my arms hurt; I was swollen and cold and shaky and sweaty. 

I had a new baby! I had to take care of him and keep him alive on the exterior of my body now...holy shit!

To say I had a few things on my mind, is an understatement. 

My overnight nurse was a real bitch; the epitome of mom shame. She was a nurse who should have never become a nurse; she lacked empathy, had terrible bedside manner, and wore far too much winged eyeliner for 3:00 in the morning. I hated her so much that I begged to go home a day early, just to avoid having to experience her being a crappy nurse through one more night. Look, I appreciate nurses as much as the next person, but if you are unable to look at a woman whose body just endured serious trauma and avoid yelling at her, you should drop out of nursing school, immediately. 

She was extremely judgmental about my lack of milk production, among other things. Did you know that it’s your fault if your tits don’t immediately turn into udders after you never even go into labor because you chose to have a c-section? It’s not that your body still thinks it’s pregnant because you haven’t released any labor hormones, no; it’s because you’re a bad mom.

Just ask that nurse and her eyeliner.

Anyway. I’ll get into the shame surrounding breastfeeding versus bottle feeding in another post, I promise. Today, I’m talking about the judgment you can expect when creating your birth plan and arranging hospital visitors. Because remember, while you’re bringing new life into the world, it’s not about you or your comfort...it’s about the people who want to be able to say they met your baby first.

If I were to have another baby (and we won’t), I’d do the hospital thing much differently. Just us. Well, us and my mom - my mom was very helpful getting us prepped and scrubbed up for surgery, took some great photos, and quite frankly, adult or not I wanted my mommy as I was prepping for surgery. But as far as visitors, I think I’d just say no, and use the time to sleep and stare at my baby. Hospital visits are awkward in the first place; everything is one paper gown away from being exposed, no one is sleeping or showering, a nurse is coming in every three seconds to touch something or check something or look at something; they want you to try and feed the baby while your in-laws are sitting there. 

Add to it that you’re already being actively judged, and it’s a recipe for disaster.

I somehow talked the hospital staff into releasing me a day early, and managed to escape a third night with Nurse Eyeliner. We packed our bags as got a ride home, and on the way, I found myself suddenly terrified. I could barely stand up by myself, needed help buckling my seatbelt, and was being allowed to take another human home with me. My BIL drove us home, and I was nervous and jumpy every time he changed lanes, accelerated, decelerated, stepped on the gas or the brake. We made it home, and moments after I settled in on the couch to hold (and admire) my perfect little nugget, Grant choked on what we later determined to be amniotic fluid. He flailed his arms, made that awful choking baby gasping noise, and I swear my life flashed before my eyes as Karen flipped him over and swatted him til he literally slimed all over her. The contents of his tiny belly covered her shirt and arms, and she just kept patting his back and cooing at him. Clearly not her first day.

He took a deep breath and started to cry. As I exhaled for the first time in minutes, I also started to cry. I didn’t know what I needed to do, and asked if I needed to call a doctor, or 911 or something...I was clearly terrified. For the record, this is the only time I’ve suggested calling 911 in the past two years.

Karen, still holding my baby, still covered in his slimy vomit, leaned into me and assured me he was okay; that I was okay.

My SIL laughed at me for “overreacting.”

Instantly, I learned that mom shame comes even from those closest to you; from those who know you’re unsure of yourself, those who are supposed to support you, those who should be the most helpful. It was this day - Grant’s third day on the planet - that I started a mental list of the people I knew I’d never be able to count on to help me grow as a confident mother, versus those who would lift me up, offer sound advice, and help me raise my awesome kid.

There is nothing wrong with your birth plan, nor with your plans for visitors. It’s okay for you to welcome guests right away, just as it’s okay for you to want them to wait. If you want your mom to hold your hand before you deliver, that’s okay. It’s also okay for you to ask a friend to bring you a smoothie, if only so you can muster the energy to demand your nurses treat you like a human as opposed to a milking machine. It’s also okay to find your voice and demand a new nurse - you don’t have to convince yourself to go home before you’re really ready, just because you hate the one you have. 

It’s also totally okay to send a letter to the hospital admin staff once you’re home and recovering, letting them know what a nasty bitch they have ruining the nights of new moms in the maternity wing. 

That’s what I did. 

#endmomshaming