Because It's Not A Birthday Party Until You're Performing The Heimlich Maneuver

Monday is Zed's first birthday. We celebrated today.

This morning, Zoey and I went to the party store (no, Dutch, not your kind of party store) to buy some balloons for Zed's party (you'll all be pleased to know that after the party, we set the balloons free in a wildlife preserve). I bought one giant Blue's Clues head balloon (the boy doesn't actually like Blue's Clues; he loves Hi-5 and Jack's Big Music Show, but since they don't make balloons or favors for either show, we opted for a Blue's Clues theme), one blue "Baby's First Birthday" balloon, one blue "1" balloon, two royal blue balloons, two light blue balloons, and one pink "It's A Girl!" balloon.

No, we're not pregnant.

I took the balloons to the register. The attendant held up the pink balloon and gave me a puzzled look. "She picked it out. It's for her," I said, pointing to Zoey. "We have free balloons if she would like one of those." I looked at the box of free balloons. "Yeah, but none of those are pink. She has to have pink. I'll take the 'It's A Girl!' balloon, please."

At 2:00 PM, everyone began showing up. My mother, mother-in-law, father-in-law, and grandmother-in-law. Everyone, that is, except the Nap Nazis.

I'm a B-I-G fan of routine when it comes to children. But I can be quite flexible when the need arises. Not my brother and his wife. Nothing gets in the way of their child's naps. House on fire? Sorry, kid's napping. Their child is put in her crib at 1:00 PM and is removed from her crib at 2:00 PM. Everyone and everything else be damned!

They informed me ahead of time they would be a little late. They called at 2:30 PM to let me know they were on their way (they still had a thirty minute drive ahead of them). It took every ounce of restraint I had not to tell them, "Don't worry. We'll celebrate birthdays, Christmases, and everything else when your child outgrows naps!"

When I got off the phone, I announced to the room, "Screw them. Let's have cake."

Ella had made Zed a Blue's Clues cake in the shape of Blue's head without a mold. Everyone was quite impressed. We put Zed in his highchair, lit the candle, sang Happy Birthday, and let him stare at the cake.

And stare.

And stare.

Finally, he poked his finger into the cake. He pulled it out and, after examining his finger v-e-r-y closely, he realized it neither burned him, bit him, nor killed him, so he stuck his whole hand into the cake. He then became really brave and stuck his other hand into the cake. He dug around in the cake for a few moments but never once tried to eat any of it. Not that I was surprised. This is a kid who tries to lick power outlets yet will not eat solid food.

So we started with the icing. Ella dipped her finger into the cake and put it to Zed's mouth. He made a face like we were feeding him our world-famous rat-feces flavored turkey drumsticks. Unfazed, Ella tried again. This time, Zed licked his lips. Success!

So we foolishly decided to let Zoey fed him some icing (not that we had any say in the matter). He opened his mouth when her finger neared, ready to taste the sweet goodness. Zoey dipped her finger in the cake again and pulled out a pea-sized helping of icing. "That's too big of a bite!" I yelled. But I was too late. It was already in his mouth.

And he gagged.

And gagged again.

And then threw up all over the place.

We took Zoey to Chuck E. Cheese's for her first birthday. She was halfway through her pizza when she started gagging. I had to turn her over on my knee and hit her back until she finally stopped choking.

Family traditions are nice.

While Ella was cleaning Zed's hands and changing his clothes, he started laughing hysterically. If you spoke to him, he would giggle. If you looked at him, he would giggle. It was like he was stoned.

I wish sugar had that effect on me.

I then brought Zed's presents into the living room. The Nap Nazis arrived at this time, visually peeved we had not waited for them. The nerve!

Zoey helped Zed open his presents. By helped, I mean Zoey opened Zed's presents. Not that he cared. He beat on one of the boxes for a few minutes and then crawled off to run his fingers across the vent.

I don't know why we spend money on these kids. Zoey would be happy with a ball of string and Zed is fine playing with our vents all day long.

FINAL THOUGHT

Why do we spend so much money on automobiles and car seats with high safety ratings, helmets, and pads for every joint on their body, yet have no problem placing a flaming piece of pastry mere inches from our children's faces?

GHS: 8