When girls are little, or so I’ve been told, they often dream about their weddings. They dream of their dresses and bridesmaids and flower girls. Not me. I never dreamed of getting married, because quite frankly, I never thought I would. My young childhood was full of abuse and horrible relationships with men. By the time I was old enough to understand that marriage is supposed to be a happy, fulfilling relationship between two people who love each other…well lets just say that between my extremely low self-esteem, budding weight problems, and continued abuse I never, ever thought I’d find a normal man willing to have sex with me let alone marry me.
What I did dream about though, was having children! Since I was eleven and my cousin was born I have found myself drawn to people and creatures that need love and nurturing. My cousin and I were inseparable for years, to the point that he called me Mommy when we were together.
Well, my dream has come true. I have two beautiful, wonderful, sometimes exasperating children of my own. They grew in my body, nursed at my breasts, and now are trying to slowly “Mom” me to death. I couldn’t ask for anything more. This brings me to my major mistake.
My son’s 6th birthday was Saturday. Birthdays are an event in my house. I don’t remember birthday parties or celebrations, although I’ve seen pictures so I know I had them. But I do birthdays in a very big way. One year I sewed a dozen backpacks, the ones from Dora the Explorer, made maps, and designed a scavenger hunt where each child got 12 separate prizes for in their backpack. Another year I made Tarzan loincloths and Jane dresses for the kids and turned my dinning room into a jungle. And yet another year I made it under the sea, complete with a Spongebob costume for each child to slip on and have a Polaroid taken and put in a picture frame to take home. This year, dance pictures fell on my C’s birthday. It was like six hours of picture-taking, costume changing hell. And I’m still struggling with pneumonia. I knew, though, that the day of his birthday was not going to be the event it deserved to be while competing with these pictures. So I planned his party for Monday, tomorrow. We’re going to a kid action zone place where they have video games, bounce houses, jungles gyms, and cardboard tasting pizza. My head, and lungs, already hurt.
Where’s my mistake? I didn’t even realize it myself until about an hour ago. I forgot to order the damn cake! How could I be so stupid! My boy is 6 and so excited about his birthday and his party with all of his friends and I forgot to order the damn cake. I’m praying that I can call first thing in the morning and still have time to get one since his party isn’t until 5:30 in the afternoon. I’m such an idiot. I already let him down by letting his actual birthday go by without fanfare and now this. I hate myself right now.