The birthday that was - the uncut version

Roughly two months back, on an utterly ordinary evening, in a particularly inspired moment, I had sent out a message on my favorite WhatsApp group – a group with us few women sharing a common thread with Buffalo. And although with new commitments, we set off on different paths, the warmth of friendship nurtured through the cold months of Buffalo, was carried forward over this group. The message was an invitation to my daughter’s second birthday, and to make sure the invitation was received with the same eagerness with which it was extended, I had thrown in the temptation of a trip to Miami, if they cared to show up. That trip to Miami never happened, but they came anyway. And a tide of effervescence swept across our lives and reached every corner of our hearts, from the time these women, and the men folk too, joined us for our girl’s special day.

But only if things were as smooth and simple as it came off sounding. Particularly not, when friends are scattered across different cities, and have to work out dates around their busy lives, which translated to chaotic planning over the phone. And hence, to work out a method to the madness, a WhatsApp group was promptly created. And with that, any last vestige of intelligible conversation was put indefinitely on hold. Because, one could only get so far, when the discussions ranged from one’s sartorial preferences (over other things), to another’s concern with a certain ‘Game of Thrones’ episode, to another’s work pressure, to anything anyone fancied, but the ‘planning’, which was the sole purpose of the group. Hence in hindside, I am just grateful that the stars finally aligned, the clouds parted, and this scattered lot, with even more scattered ideas, landed just in time for the day. 

But from the day their visit was confirmed, till the day they finally arrived, as you would know it, the ‘Monica’ (as enquired by a friend) in me, was doing overtime. My phone’s battery would run out faster than ever with me raging down to-do lists on my phone’s Notes. From creating more room to accommodate everyone in the house, to acquiring air-beds and mattresses, to stocking up food and water, to sprucing up the place in between picking after toys and tantrums, to fixing meals, the tasks saw no end. And inflicting more pain upon myself, I quite uncharacteristically, turned up for most social events, even the ones we had a choice to pass. And this turned out to be the sole reason for the last-minute fixes which I could have so done without. But I must admit, the thrill of boarding the last train was a great high, and putting the welcome note on the main door, practically split seconds before the first guests arrived, was insanely exciting. Although in the two-seconds break I managed to steal to straighten my weary back, I had made a solemn promise of never losing touch with myself, ever again. And with that, as the guests started pouring in, the house echoed into the familiarity of a happy commotion, as suitcases settled in corners, and friends picked up from where they never left. And the balmy August night played perfect host to this bonhomie.

We had half a day to spare before the day of the Birthday party. Hence the next day towards evening, battling fatigue, and the infamous Florida rain that was hammering down in its most notorious way, we headed to the Clear water beach – the pride, and the saving grace of Tampa. But the rain thwarted any last desire to witness the glorious sunset from pier 60 which was the sole motive of the drive. Failing to catch any major activity on either the horizon, or the beach, we huddled inside a seafood joint and spent the rest of the evening juggling between food and conversations, and me with crayons, to keep the kid occupied. While another guest joined us straight from the airport. Although a fat dinner is known to induce lethargy and sleep, not quite, when ‘poker’ was in the agenda soon after we returned. And the supreme guardian of the ‘Game of Poker’, dear husband, saw to it that the game was treated with the same reverence with which he has been treating it, and earning a steady ill-reputation. And as the men and the ladies settled down for a game of Poker, I grabbed my favorite blankie, and collecting myself on my favorite spot, did what I do best – watch. As they continue with the usual ribbing and jibes.

The next morning was the birthday morning. And it was also the morning when I survived a fatal heart damage when the husband hurled me out of the bed like a maniac, and leapt out of bed himself, when he saw a baffling number of missed calls from the hotel which was the venue for the birthday. The manager was asked to inform us as soon as they were open so that we could spruce up the place and make it birthday-party ready. But when Poker pushed sleep to the wee hours of the morning, birthday plans had to go for a toss. And when our eyes reluctantly opened, it was close to 11 am. Making a dash to the rest room, and hissing and cursing at himself, he got hold of all the decor items that were arranged in various boxes and labelled (ahem!), and taking three trusted people, who can very well run an event company of their own, vanished in thin air.

But this is not how things were supposed to go as per the original plan. Besides the venue, food, photographer, cake, dress and accessories, we had a decor team in place too. Who, after raising our hopes to a record high, came back at the last minute, and slumped the most annoying, ‘due to unforeseen circumstances’, and left us in a lurch. But hold your horses. Before you put two and two together, and decide on the emotional turbulence the news might have caused me, you, my friend, is gravely mistaken. This new person that is talking to you, this one has long left her fastidiousness way behind her. Falling back on Plan B is her new thing. And hence, she landed firmly on her feet even at the face of such depravity. She flicked her hair, twitched her neck, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and together with her partner in distress, summoned the messiah of the 21^st century *drumrolls* – Amazon. And together they shopped the shit out of it. And once satisfied, depended on prayers, for timely delivery of the stuff. And since they already blindly clambered on the ‘theme and color’ train, they picked the ‘Peppa Pig’ decor items (the character their girl is hooked to), and settled for a pink and gold color palette. This was their brief to the decorators too, and when the task fell upon them, they groaned under the weight of the overwhelming amount of work. And at once, bid bye to elegant drapes and balloon arches, and shook hands with kitschy DIY decor.

In the next one week, till the birthday, the stuff started coming in, and each knock at the door, each trip to the mail box, would get my heart racing. And out would come one item after the other. Since pictures from the event are more important than the real event in the post social-media scenario, a photo booth (O dear lord!) became almost inevitable (After all, how does one look ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or even ‘yummy’, without the props saying it for them?) And that’s exactly how I ate my words about never indulging into things like such and what not. And even went on to break the rules a little, and in my attempt to customize the props, lost few good nights’ sleep to put together a half-decent photo booth.

While giving the bats and the owls of the world company, as my pair of scissors would give shape to my ideas, a part of me would yearn for the simpler, the un-demanding birthdays of yore. Much like our lives then. When home-cooked food and home-baked cakes would do just fine. When year after year, the same streamers would miraculously re-appear, and hug the walls of our living-rooms. And even then, the fun would not be compromised. My aunt would whip-up some of the most memorable cakes for us, in the shape of a rabbit, a cat, a flower basket. A far cry from the snooty fondant-laden cakes that seem to have become the thing today. Hence, when my girl walked up and down around the cake, going, ‘Peppa, Peppa’ with excitement, it was almost a consolation for our efforts.

But it was not all hard work and no play affair, this.  And with that, we have arrived at the most notorious part of the event - the ‘getting ready’ bit. O. MY. GOD. (borrowing my girl’s favorite phrase), it’s incredulous, how much can one procrastinate, and delay things. Therefore, the night before the birthday, I summoned my most military face, and announced in my most commanding voice, that, anybody failing to arrive in time at the venue the following day would have to face serious consequences. And maintained a pretty straight face throughout the delivery. I think. And the next day when I woke up at 11 am, after everybody else had woken up, I wanted to dig the proverbial hole, as quickly and widely as possible, lest someone barged in with accusing glances. Guilt-ridden, when I came out of my room, I darted aimlessly, mostly to dodge eye contacts, and managed to drop an entire tray of knick-knacks! Which instantly broke the ice, besides breaking other items.

As I got on with the flow of the day, the decor team was decking up the hall, and me, and a special guest – a friend’s mom and savior, prepared lunch for everyone, and waited for the whole bunch to return, who had skittered across the city on various pretexts. Once lunch was done, and failing to force-sleep the birthday girl after numerous attempts, we started to get ready. And slowly and steadily, the house began to submerge under a sea of beauty products - hair blowers, hair straighteners, pins, clips, foundations, powders, lipsticks, liners, things-I-don’t-know-names-of, mascaras, discarded dresses, glimmering jewelry, a puff here, a whiff there, a frown here, a satisfied glance there, and it went on like an unending saga. And the chaos that had settled in, brought with it an odd happiness that surged and reached every corner. While the women didn’t have a moment to spare, the men folk nervously maintained that, they would wait for the tension to subside, because all they need to do is throw on a shirt and head out. And to think that I fell for that claim!

Once the first batch was ready, and we drove to the venue, miss birthday girl, dressed in her fine clothes, was partially dozing off. And on arrival, she had to be carefully balanced on my arms, as my high-heels were put to test that evening. When I walked into the venue, I was pleasantly surprised by the feat these guys had pulled off in such a short duration. And few minutes after our arrival, entered the legend of tardiness, who had set a record by arriving on time, thanks to blatant lies about the actual time of the event. Slowly the other guests started to fill the hall, and the last time I had felt a similar kind of tingle in my tummy was at my brother’s wedding. And the rest of the evening, as you can guess, was spent doing the usual shebang around a birthday party.

We have so many reasons to cherish the memories of this birthday in the years to come. But most of all, for how it became a pretext to reunite friends. Which is why my fondest memories from this day would be the ‘before and the after’, the ‘behind-the-scenes’, the ‘rough cut’ of the celebration. The ones the camera fails to capture, but the heart forever treasures. 

End of the Year...

I am writing this under the effect of one of my favorite writer’s short story, titled, ‘Year's End', from her short story collection, ‘Unaccustomed Earth’. I could go on reading Jhumpa Lahiri tirelessly, getting lost in the myriad labyrinth of emotions evoked through her easily relatable characters. The wretched social media comes in the way every now and then though, and distracts me to a point that I sometimes need to re-read a whole passage. But I have made peace with that too, as long as I get some time to read and not doze off during this elusive ‘me-time’ I so dearly crave.

There is something about the quiet elegance of these stories like that of the author’s face alongside the blurbs on the back of her book covers that lingers on long after the pages have been turned and you realize it is time to call it a day. Only that lately, when I say call it a day, I mean hit the bed in a zombie-like state and sleep for straight 7 hours, well that, if I am not woken up by a fidgety toddler for some formula milk or just  a little cuddle if not anything else. This is often followed by demands for vigorous back rubbing while I direct fervent prayers above for her to fall asleep at the earliest. But today, I decided to stray from this routine a little bit. Peanut is fast asleep next to me, and instead of crashing down right away, I decided to make an exception of scribbling down my thoughts, fully aware that before I reach half way, my eyes would screech and give up on me, and words would start to evaporate.  But one cannot ignore Madam Lahiri’s calls of inspiration, can one? Especially when it is propelled by a deep sense of guilt of absolute non-productivity over this space. So excuse me just for today if I take long drawls, take my own sweet time to unfold the mysteries of my mood and the workings of my mind and a wee bit of this and a big gulp of that and yet, arrive nowhere!

Going back to the aforementioned story, though it is titled as ‘Year's End', it takes a course of its own that does not necessarily tick the boxes relating to the exuberance and the merry making that happen around the end of each year. Yet probably we expect the unexpected in this case given Jhumpa’s flair to turn the trite to something cleverly bright! But we shall do the singing pean for the author on some other occasion. For now, let me do what this title typically suggests - reflect upon the year gone by and the one that is yet to completely unveil itself.

Standing at the crux of 2017, I cannot help but take a moment to look at how 2016 had been for me, for us, as a family, and the possibilities that 2017 holds. End of the year does that to everyone I would assume, for it is that time when we wrap up the past and straddle up our boots for the new, the unseen, the unpredictable. This time of the year is often marked by hope and excitement, dreams are renewed, and we find ourselves in anticipation of good things to happen to us, almost a desperate attempt to cast the shadow of the past away. I missed doing this indulgent philosophizing while getting busy doing the rounds of the holiday homes of the likes of Ricky Martin, Puff Daddy, David Beckham etc. over a river cruise in Miami. Pictures of which have already been unabashedly shared on social media and anecdotes on how significantly broke and worthless I have felt thereafter have been generously peppered over my chit-chats over WhatsApp with my chums. Well, that, for some other time, for now let’s just stick to the little resolves we have made to ourselves to stay positive, shall we?

Hmmm. Now let me see. 2016 eh? In a nutshell, 2016 had been ‘eventful.’ Lesser said is better. Bummer? All that grandiose for this? You would also think that I must have probably said the same thing the last year, and the year before that, but you would be heartened to know that it’s not quite the case, atleast not entirely so. The year before, that is 2015, I conceived our baby, towards the beginning of the second half of the year, she was born. So therefore, you get that, eventful would have been an understatement. It changed our lives forever! O well, another cliché’! But it did! From a couple (for a bit too long we have been told), we became a family. Our lives revolved around her – raising, caring and rearing her. Had it not been for the typical social media euphoria around the end of a year and beginning of yet another, we would have simply slept it through like any other tired late nights after tending to baby chores.

Come 2016, and husband inches towards graduating, meeting cruel project deadlines, prepping up for presentations, late night group discussions, and the usual midnight ‘bhai’ calls to fellow batch mates to vent out frustration relating sometimes this, sometimes that, thankfully all grad-school related whining to my credit. Not quite sure what happens when I am not sticking my ears while he is at it though. I do not know about him, but on the day of his commencement, I was beaming with happiness and pride and respect for this man who did it, despite the odds, despite everything! ‘We’ did it! We did it anyway! Graduation done! MBA. Check. Chapter close. Eventful? I would think.

Now came the job hunting part, there was clearly no time to amble about and cursory peeking into job portals anymore. You realize this is where the real game begins, as we were cautioned by well-meaning friends who were well aware of the challenges of starting off afresh after having left behind lucrative jobs. Through many lows and few highs, with numerous doubts and heavy sighs (that even rhymed!), we found ourselves sailing to another port yet again for newer ventures. It was finally and eventually time to say goodbye to beloved Buffalo, the city that adorned the partner with another degree and gifted us a baby to tow along.

We took an early morning flight to the new location we were going to call home, and when we arrived at our destination, we were greeted by the refreshing topical trees and the glorious landscape of Tampa, Florida! A far cry from the already dark and dreary winter afternoons of Buffalo. I held back saying I am in love with this place at the very first sight because I wanted to remain loyal to Buffalo for as long as I could, and as long as the devastatingly scenic beaches would turn me into an infidel soon. My first thoughts were of how this place hits the right balance between hot and arid Doha and cold and snowy Buffalo. I was elated to find Goa wrapped up in tinsel and presented to me at my footsteps. As we slowly waded through a busy airport to find a cab, we started feeling conscious of our appearance in our puffed up jackets and huffed up boots under a pleasant sun. Unlike previous times, this time we decided to take our own time to make this place home, not sure whether it is age or experience that had brought about this change in our approach and attitude. The home is still a work in progress, and I am making conscious efforts to not rush to the next furniture store I behold, or coax and coax the partner to tell two different shades of lavender apart that I intend to paint a wall with etc. etc.

Soon after this crazy moving of people, followed by moving of stuff (the things we have amassed my God!) happened, we were all zealously waiting for the Election results. Social media anyway would not spare any information relating it, the blaring noise of news reporters from myriad channels would make things worse. But this one time I too was interested to see who America chooses as its next President. After having participated in mindless meme shares and opinion polls relating the next probable president elect, it only made sense to gear up to the big day. Must have been by early hours of the morn when we all got to know the results and what had transpired. A thud, a slap on our faces. The reality hit us so hard that even a forced smile at the numerous jokes that started to surface targeting the elected President became hard to come by. It was not easy to come to terms with what had happened, you know all those jokes that we had been cracking, this time, the joke was on us. My first reaction was of disbelief, then horror, and then slow and gradual accepting of fate, like how it works when the impossible happens and you are not prepared for it. Eventful enough? Well!

We got busy with our lives soon enough, more out of practice than choice, the anxiety and uncertainty of the future never leaving us. While Michelle Obama went hoarse shouting that children and particularly young girls should never lose hope, that, their future is in their hands and so on and so forth. And I found myself slouching on the arm chair and thinking how big this word ‘hope’ really is!

Bam! The holidays! America found a temporary reason to smile, and so did we. The beginning of the month of December marks the husband’s birthday, who was last seen excited about this day was when he was 4, or 6 may be. He underplays his birthday like he is competing with Irrfan khan for the National Award for understated acting and subtle reaction to milestones or some such elitist approach to important fluff...I mean...stuff. Whereas to me, at least till our daughter was born, I always made sure my birthday was a big deal. So keeping with the tradition of no overt celebration and paying homage to the art of self-control etc., we decided to simply order in food and drinks, which also suited our toddler very much. Cake? No, thank you very much. 

Now no prizes for guessing what came next. Christmas! Ofcourse!! Beloved Christmas! Oh how I love thee! For no apparent reason, for just because the days that count upto the day of Christmas are the most beautiful days both literally and figuratively. And decking up the tree, ofcourse! The fuzziness in the air, the bon-homie, a happy disposition in everyone’s face, the generous tips, the larger spreads, and the free-flowing merry drinks, the decked-up halls, the shops exploding in glitter and cheer and what not. It temporarily helps you forget the miseries you would have to nurse in the next couple of days again. An escape almost from the rehearsed chores and the patterned lives. But it is the day that follows Christmas, that day probably is the worst day of the holiday season. Because you have momentarily lost the license for merry-making, and the reality of unaccomplished promises made to yourself in the beginning of the year loom large. But like other things, it’s not too hard to ignore this fact too and move on since the New Year’s Eve plans are at hand. You don’t want to be left out alone when the whole world would be posting proofs of how psyched they are about the day’s events and the greater the number of high profile ‘check-ins’ the better! Been there done that. Check. New Year’s Eve done. This time I did not even spare a single thought towards making promises to myself about this and that since experience tells me, about time I grew up and stopped making….yes, the famous word…….‘resolutions.’ Gaaawwwwd! So looks like I am growing up after all, the numerous grey hair on my scalp is testimony to it if nothing else.

 It is the year 2017 that hogs all attention now. I cannot tell you why but I have never been more conscious about the passing of a year and stepping into another like this time. It could be the fact that the third and the new addition in the family is a more developed personality now and hence her presence is a constant reminder of how time is not going to stop and wait for me. And also the realization that these days of my early motherhood and her toddlerhood cannot be frozen in time makes me take deep gulps and sigh heaps. For starters, this year I can handle more surprises and less shocks, even a steady flow of things would be just fine too. I would think that’s not asking for too much, right? In return I can promise to not whine when the tides are sometimes higher than I would expect and not get complacent when lower tides hit my shore. Here’s hoping that this year I surprise myself by meeting my own commitments, so an older version of me can look back and have bigger and greater milestones to keep count of. O and yes, in between all this, may I get to explore new places and meet interesting people to go on adding to my list.  And also, some of those fancy clothes and shoes I keep track of on Instagram may hog my closet space someday. May I finish the reading list on my phone, may Amazon bring down its book prices wee bit, may my waist get back to being jeans-friendly once again and, little hair, just few more strands would be wonderful for my crown, and may my plants not die unceremonious deaths just this one time please….and may the blemishes on my face disappear miraculously and…blah..blah..blabber..blabber..blabber.

But on a more serious note, may this year we find enough strength to voice our opinions, may we be courageous enough to fight our inner demons, may this year be a break-through for women and child safety and protection, may we see less of the brutality and the grotesque in the world that we have gotten used to seeing, may the big players humanize themselves little bit, and may the smallest fish in the pond find the dignity it deserves, may we put health above everything else, and lastly, may this year be the beginnings of many great and wonderful new beginnings for us all.

Blowing the first Candle, cutting the first Cake!



The month of August in India typically means long, hot and humid days, students heading back to the grind after their summer break, fabulous ripe mangoes slowly disappearing from the shelves, and a sudden rise in power shortage, of course! At home though, August heralds ‘Birthdays’ in the family. My original family of four has two August born, then cousins, close family friends, and later, brother-in-law, sister-in-law and nieces too made sure that the 'August Samaritans' club' keeps flourishing. Since this apparently wasn’t enough, my baby girl too decided to dodge the due date in September, and made her grand entry into this world in this blessed month a year back! So there, you have your answer to my winding tale of an introduction to shout out to the world, that, my girl has turned all of one year today!!  And I am on tenterhooks! Can u, can u believe she is all of one now? That’s exactly how this thought runs across my head – exclamations and more exclamations.

 

 

When this peanut of mine had finally arrived on the 23^rd day of August a year back, she brought with her happiness that knew no bounds, filled crevices in our hearts we never knew existed, livened us up in a way we never thought we were capable of. She gave us long tiring nights too, sapped us off all our energy and slept peacefully throughout the day; puked, pooped and peed in the most unimaginable times, and generally turned our lives upside down. From a sleepy baby to a cooing, responding-to-signs-baby, was a delightful journey for most, only if I had my quota of sleep though! *Yaaaaawn* I have figured that I am still not done yawning, sometimes just the thought of how sleep deprived I was makes me yawn, just to make up for all the lost sleep and restrained yawns for the fear of waking up baby. As weeks rolled into months, and she started learning new things such as, rolling over, listening to rhymes and songs, opening closed fists, gripping fingers, reaching out for faces and things, responding to tickles etc., I too checked boxes alongside.  For starters, I learnt how to sleep with one eye open during nights, dream prophesies about how many times baby would wake up the following night, could give sniffer dogs a run for their money at sniffing stuff, my flimsy arms turned into arms like that of an athlete’s in the process of putting her to sleep, I could dish out the most obsolete lullabies to latest Bolly numbers that vaguely qualify as lullabies (this, purely for my own entertainment), braved the world sans kajal (my equivalent of walking into a club in my night clothes), and did many such deeds which seemed undoable till a year back.

 

While my munchkin would sleep, I would stare with wonderment at the striking resemblance of her fingers with mine, would take mild offence at every other person’s declaration that she is her father’s daughter after all, and all I get are the fingers? I would send a tiny challenge at such pronouncements and think, just give her some time and you shall see. How utterly childish, I know, I know! But the very next moment I would be grateful for she makes the cut to a fairness obsessed world because she took after her father’s side of fairness quotient. She has hair that falls flat naturally – a sharp contrast to my freezy hair that need straightening to achieve a socially acceptable form, a stubbed nose - living up to her North-East Indian lineage, and stout legs like that of a soccer player’s. I would often try to picture her as a toddler, imagine her fussing with her hair in a frilly frock, flushed cheeks, carefree, oblivious to the world, lost in her thoughts. I also sometimes think of the day when her peachy cheeks and rosy forehead will break into stubborn acnes, and probably annoying pimples too. How she would hate every second person who would prescribe a solution followed with an anecdote without sparing a thought, how self-conscious that would make her feel, how acnes would become the most debated issue in her life right then and how hard she would laugh when she would reminisce about these milestones of early life as I do now. I also think of what kind of movie watch-list she would have on Netflix (or by whatever name it will be known then), if I will be able to influence her choice of films, and  the books(on her phone, of course) she would read over and over again, whether she would take note of interesting phrases and dog ear...err...I mean,  save pages on her phone, whether she would pay more attention to the words in a song or will be simply lost in its beautiful melody. Will she approve of the clothes I would pick for her, or would she put trends ahead of style. Will she assume complete silence while protesting, or will she be vocal, loud and clear about it.
 

 Lately I have also been thinking whether she would fight with me in her tricky teens. Now, before you put two and two together, let me put it down for you, that, even during the precarious teens, my behavior had been that of a very dignified and well behaved teenager. Ahem! But then if munchkin’s temper at this tender age is anything to go by, I might have to be dealing with a very opinionated voice of a potential bratty and unruly American teenager. Who has she taken after on this you would ask, well, let's just say both us parents have our weaknesses that we don't have control over. There! For now though, her tantrums, yells and demands are encouraged and attended to at her maternal grandparent’s home. And my raised eyebrows and stern voice to check her bad behavior are met with indulgent giggles from my parents. Granted, one can’t resist the hilarity of being baby-yelled at by one’s offspring who can barely move a thing without your help! So for now missy, keep them coming.

 These last twelve months of my life disappeared in the blink of an eye! Each new month brought with it new challenges and newer excitement, and learning, and some un-learning. I kept paddling hard meanwhile like a duck struggling to remain afloat. If I have to summarize her first year report card, I would say in a nutshell that she didn't make it seem like a task not doable single handedly, to be fair, with the help of a partner who was at my beck and call at most times. She had miraculously adjusted her poo times whenever we had scheduled travels. She holds a record for not throwing-up during any of the long or short trips we had made, even in not-so-baby-friendly terrains. Touchwood! Touchwood! She had been in her best behavior in places most dreaded by parents, such as airports, at the pediatrician’s clinic, random outings (that saw no end), shopping malls and most importantly, restaurants. Well, except once, when she grabbed the ceramic salt shaker and out of curiosity decided to smash it on floor, and smashed she did, and in a matter of seconds, it shattered into million pieces without  a trace. I would give her the benefit of doubt though, and think this was done just to honor the water spilling and glass breaking tradition in restaurants religiously carried out by her mother and uncle in their early years of life. But then again, she gave me several moments to swell my heart with pride while being complimented on her social behavior and people friendliness. However, what does not go smooth down my throat is that, even this particular quality is attributed to her father. Humph! Gawd! Do I digress!

 

Anyway, fast-track to today, her birthday, and my head is reeling in thoughts of  the time I was admitted to the hospital, to her birth, till the day we finally 'brought her home.' As I fight these thoughts to focus on the day’s plans, missy is rolling from one end of the bed to the other, in all her cheekiness, throwing a little challenge at me. I need to dress her up, get her birthday-girl-ready, but she, oblivious to the significance of the day! That’s how fun it is to be one I guess. While the whole world is fussing about your big day, and your parents are drowning in soap opera-ish sentiments, you lay there in your finery and then without a hint,  out of nowhere, decide that, you want to poo! Hah! perrrrfect!!

 

Not that I don't realize that the only way Miss-Birthday-girl is going to savor memories of this day is through the pictures and the videos of her first birthday cake, first birthday dress, the fussing and the kissing, and the lipstick smears, and the balloon fights, the candles, and the birthday song, and what not! But I do hope, that this little note will help her learn about all the high strung emotions  I am going through right now, and how jumpy, nervy and happy I feel as I see her take tiny baby steps (on her walker I mean) into the second year of her life. I might not be the life-quotation-churning idealistic mother you might expect me to be girl, but I will make an exception and leave you with this little thought, that -  'You are the bravest flower to have bloomed, don't forget that when the weather changes.' 

Here's to the promise of a beautiful life that awaits you, here's to blowing the first candle and cutting the first cake, here's to my seven-teeth-elf and to her endless antics, to the twinkle in her eyes and to her toothy grin! May you have a wonderful first birthday, sweetpea!

*Clink*