Birthday Nuts

I feel like I need a plaque for my wall that reads:

"I survived all the self-induced stress and neuroticism that accompanies the planning and execution of our child's first birthday."

And beneath those words, I would have mounted two tablets of Exedrine.

I felt we had a LOT to celebrate on her behalf, and I wanted our family and friends to be able to come into a pleasant, tidy atmosphere, have a few bites of something nummy, and delight in watching her play in her new princess ball pit.  I figured that's about as complicated as a first birthday party should be.

Well, the closer the date became, the more pressure I put on myself to make the party funner and funner and FUNNER.  We should have a bubble machine!  And dangly things on the ceiling!  Oh, and since everyone's feeling that post-holiday dietary remorse, I should serve raw veggies instead of sweets.... But then maybe I should clean and cut them myself instead of buying a pre-made tray, because the ones that come like that have a suspicious white film on them.  And then perhaps I could create a slideshow, and finish her baby book to display, and find a saddle for Honey Boo Boo Dog rides, and and and and........

Then the night terrors began.  My parental performance anxiety became so palpable, it seeped into my subconscious.  I dreamed that on the day of her party, I answered the doorbell at eight in the morning to a crowd of bushy-tailed guests standing around on our front porch.  Dream-me panicked, shed my bathroom, and dashed into town in search of an emergency birthday cake.  Then my surroundings morphed into my old neighborhood in Lyndhurst, New Jersey, and I managed to get kidnapped by terrorists.  When I awoke, Dream-me had escaped her captors and burst into a convenience store where I demanded to use the phone so I could call my husband to make sure HE could get the cake,

I still had a few minor freak out moments after that night, but I'll admit that put my reactions in clearer perspective.

So I relaxed.... Somewhat.  I successfully made Ava's cake myself  (even after the first attempt resulted in something that looked like a pink pancake), served teriyaki meatballs and the two best dips that Walmart offered, then set up a few chairs around Ava's ball pit and took a few deep breaths and awaited the doorbell.

You know what?

I had more fun than a flying squirrel in an attic fan!

And judging by the exuberance of her whoops and kicks, I would say that our Tootle did, too!