Jack's family birthday party was last weekend and held at my mother's house since our new house is still, well, in a shambles. (No kitchen, boxes in the living room awaiting the basement offices to be built so that all the books can be put away, etc. We both telecommute most of the time so the offices are not a minor thing).
Well, it could not have been a lovelier event. Jack was in a great mood, and he loves a party. The weather was idyllic. The food was fabulous. And everyone was so happy to be there.
You could not imagine a more appreciative toddler. And because he has been particularly obsessed with the "We just got a letter, we just got a letter, we just got a letter, wonder who it's from. It's from our friends!" part of Blues Clues, he did that with every card he opened. Yet his enunciation is not so good where anyone else could tell this was what he was doing. They all just thought he was really into cards. This was not a child who dove for the gifts. No, instead he opened his cards over and over again, acting surprised and delighted each time (and waving a few dollars in the air in the process with a giant grin on his face, as if he knew what they were and how many containers of bubbles they could buy.)
After the gifts my mother brought out the chocolate chip cake she made (I have no oven). When Jack saw it he started jumping up and down yelling "cake! cake! cake!" My mother put it on the table (we were out on the patio) and went back inside. Jack could not understand why someone would just leave a CAKE on the table and not immediately consume it. He kept looking at it and trying to get to it. Finally my mother came back out. This time with the Jello Rainbow Cake, which was quite an extraordinary site.
My mom is a bit of a foodie snob. She didn't think anyone would eat the Jello cake. But really, it was so strikingly beautiful. And everyone had a piece of it.
We put two candles on the chocolate chip cake and sang happy birthday. Initially Jack found this intimidating. But then he warmed up to it and we had to relight the candles and re-sing the song many many times.
The only shadow cast over the day was the loss of the yellow balloon. One moment the string was in Jack's hand and he was happily pulling it down and up. The next moment the balloon was free, headed into the sky. We all watched it get smaller and smaller until it was a barely visible dot, and it was very sad. Jack was very distressed. And there was the lesson of two-hood. That sometimes things go away and you can't get them back. You just have to let them go. Hard to do at two and hard to do at 42.
And tonight, nearly a week later, after the boy had a major tantrum at bath time, extending into the pre-bedtime ritual, we were all serious and not enjoying things. He'd finally calmed down and I was sitting by his bed. We both sat there quietly for a while with somber expressions. And then I smiled at him and he smiled back, and all was OK again. I had trouble leaving him to go to sleep tonight. I kept thinking, this baby won't be my baby for much longer. He'll be the big brother. And that's a little sad in a way, too. I just want to treasure him and these moments with him in these last few weeks where he's the only one. My baby. My sunshine. My special special little boy.