Angels on my shoulder

Tomorrow my guy will be five. Whoa. Where's my baby?

Whenever his birthday comes around I get nostalgic. I think back to how scared I was to bring him home from the hospital. I was a geyser of tears, a hormonal basket case. I had a huge panic attack the night before the big departure for home and I had to be given a Xanax by night duty doctor. The nurse called from my room, "is it okay if she takes it because she's breastfeeding? Yes but I think it's a case where she really does need it" "well, yes her milk isn't really in so it's probably okay for tonight" Nobody knows that story. I cried on an interns shoulder and said "I can't do this!" And I stayed awake all night staring at Little S in his bassinette with this impossible fear gripping my throat. I ended up taking him home because I didn't have a choice. You can't stay in the hospital indefinitely can you? Or can you? I took him home and guess what. I didn't do such a bad job. And I didn't drop him, not once. I did trip on the steps the very first day home though and fell down the whole staircase, bare metal parts and all. The stairs were new and didn't have the treads yet so they were slippery. Bam! Bam! Bam! My mom screamed and lunged after us. I reached the last step bruised and breathless, and there I was. I mean there we were. I was miraculously still holding him cradled against my chest. That's when I knew that mothering is a complete and awe inspiring reflex that we have no need to control. It was useless to worry about not being a capable mother. It isn't something you learn it's something you know. I have to remind myself of that all the time.

On Wednesday I organized a kiddie birthday party for ten even though the new concrete driveway was barely dry and the new terrace has missing bricks. I made this very homemade looking train cake that I was really dubious about, we played American party games and there were prizes for the best party hat because everyone was asked to come wearing a silly party hat, and there were prizes for other games. We drew pictures, sang songs and believe me I kept those kids busy!



By six o'clock everyone was exhausted. I'd survived my first kid party. This was no Mexican kiddie party like so many we'd been to in the past with a rented party hall and hired catering. This was all me working with one electrical outlet and an awful lot of extension cords in a basement. I'd worried so much and I was totally unprepared but it all worked out somehow. The house is in chaos we've never known. There's virtually no electricity and three of the upstairs rooms are closed off because of the work and the danger of falling objects, ahhh! We have our new front door stored in the hallway and it's enormous. I'd burned a giant hole in the carpet with the heat gun and that's one of the first things you see when you walk in the house. It's a landmine of possible child catastrophies. No bother we had the party in the basement and I decorated so much it didn't look like a basement anymore. I played music and we danced!



The kids hugged me when they left and the moms told me the next day that they'd had as much fun as the kids. Two French people have since asked me for the cake recipe. It was delicious. The party was a success.

Even now it's still all reflex. I'm not sure how I pulled off a birthday party in the condition the house is in, really people kept asking me over the last week "are you sure you want to do this?" because they'd drive by and see the concrete truck spinning around or they'd see me cutting this foot high grass with a huge power mower. Somehow I did it. Being a mom comes with special powers. It has to because I'm in awe of myself right now.