Today my son turns two years old. Last year at this time I was with Abbi all day, giddily ignoring my son’s birthday in favor of crowing over her due date for her second child. Two years ago at this time I was at the new mom’s breastfeeding tea at the Health Department, showing off my 12-hour old infant and glowing after a perfect birth (ed note – no need to fear the link for pictures of nasty placentas or vi’s – text only).
Nels was enthralled with his butterfly birthday cake and, much like a thoroughbred rearing at the starting gate (yes, I’m reading Seabiscuit right now), had to be restrained from blowing out the candles (or diving in the cake, we couldn’t tell which one he wanted to do) until we’d completed singing “Happy Birthday”. The thumb on his neck is his sister “helping” him get closer to the butterfly candle “antennae” to extinguish their flame.
Snuffed. I was up until midnight making and decorating this cake. My husband ended up bailing me out on the decoration part. I think I hate decorating cakes more than I hate changing diapers. It’s certainly more messy.
Gifts Nels has received so far today: alphabet refrigerator magnets, nerf football, Carhartt t-shirt, and a kilt.
Current occupation: napping peacefully after a morning and early afternoon filled with sun and friends.