Isobel’s birthday is on Saturday, just like OHmommy’s son. While I feel guilty about missing the actual date, the party I’d originally planned compensated for it, as did the knowledge that, man, she’s three, she doesn’t know the date.
Turns out, most of her friends are on vacation. So there went a big party with a bunch of sugar-high ankle biters. And the photo-walk that I’d planned. Oh well. That’s money I didn’t especially need to spend, anyway.
Last weekend, her dad, me and her had a special evening instead. She got to pick the restaurant we went to for dinner, so she chose sushi. She got to tell me what kind of cake she wanted and dreamed up a gluten- and dairy-free chocolate cake, with coconut-chocolate icing, blueberries and strawberries.
Then, she got to open her presents from me, him and his mom.
I think that all together she got about 15 books, the Planet Earth DVDs, some clothes that might fit her by next summer and a game. She couldn’t have been much happier, and after playing with the game for a half hour, had a bath and went to bed.
Even though it felt pretty odd to be singing Happy Birthday to her a week before the real date, like I was lying to her, it was pretty much the best birthday party we could have had. There were no meltdowns other than a few emo moments, she wasn’t up really late and even when the sugar kicked in from the cake, she still had some semblance of sanity.
Of course, there was at least one misty-eyed moment, when for the first time in her life, it hit me that she’s getting older and growing up and no longer a baby. But you know, she’s a pretty cool kid, too – one that went unsuspectingly with me, shopping for her birthday present and picked out 13 books all relating to learning, one who is magentized to documentaries and conquered her fear of bugs with just one viewing of one of the Planet Earth discs, one who makes my life the most interesting possible reality it could be.
Last night, as I climbed into bed and rearranged her limbs so that only one of them was pressed into the small of my back, it hit me.
Even though I’m missing her actual birthday, that’s not the issue. I’ll be missing her while I’m in Chicago for BlogHer. I’ve never left her for more than 12 hours at a time. I’ve never been in a place so separate from her that I couldn’t race home if needed. I’ve never walked away from her and said, “See you in four days,” like I will tomorrow.
It kind of makes me want to cry and not show up to the airport, this sudden need to not miss her. It came out of left field and I don’t know how to console it except to smile bravely with shiny eyes and tell her how much fun she’s going to have with the friends she’s staying with.
So far, it doesn’t look like she’s going to miss me, at all, she doesn’t know that this is kind of a bittersweet occasion. I guess I’m not beneath lying to her, after all.
