One year ago right now I was about to be wheeled into surgery so a baby could be extracted from my poor body after 24 hours of labor, only 8 of which were agonizing enough to be used as a guilt mechanism on my husband and eventually my child, then I got my epidural and all was right with the world (on the other hand, I could no longer whine and complain, which is my very favorite thing). In fact, I wish epidurals were more widely available. Sometimes it is pretty handy not to feel half your body. But I digress.
That baby was one Charlotte Ruth. On Saturday, we gathered to celebrate her one year of existence. More importantly, I gathered what is left of myself to celebrate my one year of maintaining a thin grasp on sanity. A grasp is a grasp, people.
I made a cake from a Duncan Hines mix because I forgot to order one from a bakery and because I am not the kind of mom who makes cakes from scratch. I am not the kind of mom who makes dinner about 75% of the time but rather sends Daddy to Taco Bell so there is something for us to eat. The cake was not shaped like a fairy princess or a magic pony. It was shaped like a cake pan, a 9x13 one to be precise. It was not iced to look like Charlotte or her favorite teddy bear. It was iced with chocolate and the "Happy Birthday Charlotte" written on it in red was barely legible. But it smeared all over her face and encrusted her entire head of hair just like a fairy princess cake, or even better.
I figure I can slide by with such poor mom performance for another few years, then she is going to realize her mom is a huge loser. But I do have a Ph.D. so there's that.