I’m going to take a bold stance here—one that might attract the ire of those who thrive on fueling the flames of the so-called mommy wars—but my child’s first birthday bash won’t be focused on him.
You won’t find a massive inflatable bouncer in my yard, nor will there be an array of cartoon-themed decor or elaborate displays chronicling my little one’s first year. I won’t spend endless hours scouring Pinterest or emptying my wallet on Etsy for a party meant for a child who still requires diaper changes and has a penchant for licking remote controls.
Forget about a lavish cake for my son to demolish, only to result in a 30-minute cleanup. And no, I won’t be hiring a professional photographer since by the time I actually get around to displaying those photos, my son will likely be entering kindergarten.
As my son approaches his first birthday, I can’t help but laugh at the fact that, despite a playroom brimming with singing, dancing toys, his favorite item is a simple, faded Tupperware bowl—not even a new one, mind you. This bowl probably came from a cookout years ago and ended up lost in the chaotic abyss of my kitchen. I offered it to him one day as a desperate distraction tactic while I cooked ramen. To my surprise, he now loves that bowl almost as much as he enjoys yanking off his socks and tasting them.
But don’t mistake my casual demeanor for a lack of celebration. We will be marking the occasion, not just for him but to acknowledge that my husband and I have successfully navigated our first year of parenting. We’ve weathered postpartum challenges, dealt with colic, and endured sleep deprivation. We’ve taken a newborn on a plane and survived a grueling 10-hour road trip, not to mention the countless moments of “how did poop end up on his shoulders again?”
Transitioning from a corporate job to being a stay-at-home mom was a change that I underestimated in terms of difficulty. The solitude can turn even the most resilient woman into a bundle of nerves.
Throughout this first year, I’ve often felt a low-grade anxiety and uncertainty. Yet, I know I’m not alone; I’ve formed lasting friendships with other new moms who share these experiences.
We’ve all returned home from the hospital, questioning if we’ve made the biggest mistake of our lives. We’ve shared weary meals with our partners, red-eyed and in the same shirts for days, wondering if the spark was gone. We’ve called our own mothers in tears, pleading for help, convinced we were unfit for motherhood.
There have been moments of longing for our pre-baby lives, and we’ve all felt the shame of not relishing every single moment. And yes, we’ve all had the urge to side-eye those older ladies in the grocery store who wax poetic about how quickly it all goes by. We know it’s true, but it’s hard to grasp when you’re deep in the trenches.
Before you label me the Most Heartless Mother in America, let me clarify: we’ve also experienced the joyful firsts, the baby laughs that melt away anxiety, and countless little moments that make all the chaos worthwhile.
Still, amidst all the self-doubt during this first year of motherhood, one thing is clear: I won’t be fretting over the details of a birthday party because I’ll be too busy enjoying some refreshing mimosas.
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Summary
In this reflection on the challenges and triumphs of the first year of motherhood, Jenna Thompson shares her unconventional approach to celebrating her son’s first birthday. Rather than focusing on extravagant parties, she emphasizes the survival and growth her family experienced amidst the chaos of new parenthood. Through candid insights, she highlights the collective struggles and joys that accompany this transformative journey.