Now I am all for celebrating that you have not broken the kid or your marriage by the time your baby turns 1 but do I really have to attend?
Honestly, I hate kids parties.
They’re a bit like bad hens nights. You know the ones.
Awkward conversations with other mums you barely know, forced merriment, random locations and never enough booze. Though I am partial to fairy bread and pots of jelly beans.
Bunting is bulls**t.
I’m always amused at the amount of effort mums put into the 1st birthday party.
Hand-made bloody bunting from Etsy, entertainment (seriously?!), a birthday cake that just screams “look at me, I’m (trying to be) the perfect mother”, and of course a theme. Because the kid at the tender age of 12 months really loves transport. FFS. They’ve only just discovered their elbows.
Then there’s present politics. How much to spend? What to buy? What can I re-gift?
You feel compelled to buy some overpriced bloody Lamaze/Baby Einstein squeaky learning thing because you’re all about advancement and learning. Course you are. When really, you know the kid is going to spend more time playing with the wrapping paper than the actual brain cell increasing organic Tibetan wooden music maker that cost more than your paid parental leave would allow.
And so you arrive late (on purpose), shove down organic gummy bears while trying to keep your own kid from licking all the icing from the cupcakes. A random mum starts rabbiting on about her latest Thermomix recipe for buckwheat pancakes (yawn). Claire, Cara, Lara, something like that.
Your husband has of course gotten out of this one. It’s a negotiation and he’s agreed to only attend parties where other men he knows will be in attendance and where cold craft beer is served. So basically he’s never going to any. Thanks.
The fancy 5 layered cake is finally brought out. We all sing half heartedly and then the birthday dad starts thanking his wife and everyone he’s ever met. He gets teary. I get mad. It’s too much and my 3rd coffee is starting to wear off so I make our escape.
We’re halfway out the door when the mother runs at me and says “You can’t leave” like some scene from Home and Away. It’s dramatic. “You must take this with you!” and she shoves a bag of lollies, a balloon and custom made cookie in my hand. Like she has some party bag KPI’s to meet.
My kid spots it and lunges at me. Oh good. More sugar.
Can you relate? Please share your thoughts in the comments below.
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