Today, we got to sing Axel's favorite song, Happy Birthday. And not just because I didn't want him to land a kick in my stomach during a diaper change or because I was trying to keep him awake in the car - it was because it was his actual birthday.
He's old enough now to demand multiple cupcakes, to refuse to peddle a tricycle, to cook imaginary seven-course feasts, to finger paint all green masterpieces, to announce to the world when he's pooped, to command that I sit down next to him, to build wobbly twenty-brick towers of Legos, to adorably mispronounce his brother's name (Nonas), to take flying leaps off of the couch into my arms, to have conversations (even if they generally center on heavy machinery), to understand that Trick or Treating means the chance to grab fistfuls of candy, to bestow hugs on all his friends and family, and to say his age - "Two!" while holding up a single index finger.
He's two. Two! He went from this...
To this...
...in two years. Yesterday he was a zygote, and today he's two. Maybe that's why I'm so tired. Well, that and the blizzard and the sickness and the birthday party at the zoo. I would write witty things here, but I really need a nap. Birthday parties are exhausting. Last year, I went all out. This year, I thought I could handle a very small party at the zoo, bringing nothing but ourselves and delicious cupcakes from a local shop, and keeping the guest list very small. And, while Axel had fun seeing the elephants and riding the train in his train engineer costume, I still came close to having a tired and hungry meltdown on our way out of the zoo. "Cranky" was not the adjective I wanted as a mother on my oldest son's birthday.
This makes me wonder why I do this - throw birthday parties.
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