This guy turned one on Friday. In what I suspect will be typical of this Gulf Coaster’s birthday in years to come, his birthday celebration was actually a Mardi Gras celebration. In other words, instead of having any kind of cake or party, we all went to a parade.
Friday was an extremely busy day (in a sea of busy days) – I had no less than four deadlines, and made heavy use of my Outlook reminders to assure that all documents were filed/served as required. It was a frantic day, one where I would be on the phone while typing an email, hang up the phone, click send, and the phone would ring again, and then a colleague would step in my office and wait til my phone conversation ended to chat with me, and while they’re still in there the phone rings again. Meanwhile, my sent email has already received a response and needs my reply . . . I plowed through the day with no break, focused on getting all fires put out and getting home to my baby boy. I think I’d prefer to re-do labor than have a day like that again soon!
I made it out by 5, however. I was the last to leave – our building is right on the parade route, so everybody tends to clear out a touch early on parade days anyway. I flew home as fast as my car could carry me, then helped the Professor collect the children and some throw-bags and we turned right around and headed back to work. We rode the elevator on up to the break room, where some colleagues were waiting with their own toddler, and we all shared a couple of pizzas while we waited for the parade to start. My colleague and I both expressed dismay that neither of us had remembered a little cake and candles for Craig – it would have been a perfect little party moment, since he had a little friend there – but so it goes. At least we were together.
After pizza, we hit the route. We stood at the building’s front door, a perfect spot. The big boys climbed on the parade barriers and leaned out begging for beads (they don’t have those in NOLA Mardi Gras – you fall under the float, it’s your problem!) Meanwhile, the Professor and I took turns in the back with Craig, hiding behind a column when the floats came by. I think Mobilians throw harder than New Orleanians – or maybe I’m just getting soft in my old age. In any case, I didn’t want Craig to catch a faceful of beads, so I kept him safe in the background, and then brought him up when the marching bands came through. Our friends actually left early because they got hit too hard too many times and were kind of over it. That’s the danger of Mardi Gras – you almost have to wear a hard hat, or just accept you’ll get cracked in the head at least once!
All three boys had a great time. The pic above is from during the parade – the baby and the Professor retreated into my building for a few minutes to take a break from the noise. The building is on lockdown during Mardi Gras, and only tenants are permitted in – which makes it nice. It’s not crowded, it’s safe and quiet, and the restrooms are always free. It’s an ideal place for our family to retreat during parades – not quite as awesome as when we lived on the route in New Orleans, but a close second.
Anyway, we stuck it out til the fire trucks came through, signaling the end. It was after 8pm by the time we got home – a late bedtime for our little one-year old. I held him in his bedroom and tried to slow my heartbeat after the frenetic day – tried to make the moment move in slow motion. It can be hard to ramp down when you’ve been amped up so many hours in a row, but one thing that’ll help you do it is a snuggly, sleepy baby. I held him close, stroking his baby fine hair, marveling that he’s been with us a whole year already. He tucked his smooth cheeks beneath my chin, wrapped his little arms around my neck. It was heaven. After a while, he leaned toward the bed, so I put him in his crib and went to count beads/loot with the big boys, before they went to bed themselves. I took a moment to hold each of them, too, big as they are. The days of holding Jack in my lap are fast drawing to a close, and so I try my best to do it as often as he can stand it. Holding him these days is not unlike holding a giant Doberman who thinks he’s a little puppy – it can be quite painful and leads to much bruising. Still worth it.
I had to travel for work over the weekend, leaving early Saturday morning and getting back mid-afternoon Sunday. We might have had a little party for Craigsy if that wasn’t the case – but he doesn’t care in the slightest, and though I wanted a celebration, it would have been too much. We proposed grilling out with neighbors Sunday afternoon – something low-key and easy – but it poured rain all day Sunday, so I just threw up my hands and said heck with it. Last night I put up a couple of the old decorations from Jack’s first birthday, the Professor bought a single frosted cupcake from the grocery store, and we sang to him after dinner and let him go at it. We didn’t buy him a single gift, or even wrap up old toys like I’d planned. He wants for nothing, we’re drowning in toys as it is, and it seemed a silly project to pull out wrapping paper to wrap up old stuff when it would have been squeezed in to a too-tight schedule. I wish I had more time to give them these days . . . but I don’t, and I can’t let it get me down. Like I said – Craig could not have cared less. He knows I love him. I care a bit, and I enjoy celebrating things, but sometimes it just can’t happen and I need to get over it. The big boys – very concerned that birthdays are properly celebrated in our house – were somewhat mollified by the decorations and cupcake last night.
The child is a delight. He walks solidly now, marching around the house collecting and redistributing random items with great focus and care. His favorite thing to do is climb, full body, into my purse, pull out my keys, wallet, and phone (only the most important things in there), and then make off with them. When I catch him in the act, he giggles like mad and runs away, clutching the contraband and looking over his shoulder to be sure I’m chasing him. He also really enjoys rearranging the pantry, climbing into the laundry basket, and opening up our small beverage fridge and pushing the temperature control buttons. When I change his diaper, he tends to twist and squirm away until I put the new diaper on his face and say “Where’s Craig? Where is he? Where’d he go?” He will not pull the diaper off – he’ll just lay under there giggling and squealing with delight at this hilarious game, until I pull it off and “find” him.
He sleeps well – great naps, great night sleep. He barely cries, although he’s pretty grumpy in the morning until he gets his morning bottle. He’s been drinking whole milk for several weeks already – I weaned him onto formula about six weeks ago, and then one day we were out of formula and the Professor was out of town and I pondered taking all of them to the grocery to buy formula, but then just said the heck with it and gave him milk, cold turkey. He took to it like a champ, as he does everything. If I was certain all my babies would be like this, I’d have ten more.
It’s been a lovely year with our fifth family member, the first of many good years. I took a picture of him each month with the little bunny toy that I’ve used as a comparison “measuring stick” for each of my three boys – one of these days I’ll pull them all together and show each month’s growth, for all three boys – thirty-six pics with the Bun Bun Growth Chart, thirty-six months of babies in my life. It goes so quickly, they grow so quickly. The glorious thing about Baby Number Three is that I know that, in my bones, in a way I didn’t with my first boys – and so I have savored him this year, immersing myself in his babyhood, remembering with a bittersweet pang that each of his firsts is one of my lasts, and lingering in those special moments just a touch longer than I otherwise might.
I can’t think of a better way to spend a moment than in breathing in every bit of sweet happiness this guy has to offer.
In the second birthday photo, where Craig is looking up with his brothers behind him, he looks so much like you!
Third kid always gets the shaft . . . 😉
Looks like me??? I’ve never had anyone say that before! I love it! :):):)
And sister dear, I cannot deny it. He gets everything he needs and a little of what he wants, and that’s about the best we can swing it! Luckily, he doesn’t seemed too harmed by his third-kid status. And neither do you, I might add!! 😉