Happy 1st Birthday

Last week was Punkin’s birthday. Normally, I would have been all over this posting and actually gotten it up on time. The truth is, I’ve been really putting off writing about this day. I don’t want to relive the day, not yet anyway. But I must, before the details grow fuzzy and yet another adventure takes its place in my less-than-perfect memory bank. I’ve also been struggling with how best to describe what was quite possibly THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE. Or at least the worst 4 hours of my life. Seriously. Worse than giving birth even. Appropriate being as how it was the 1 year anniversary of that momentous, exhausting, traumatic and exhilarating event.

Ok, so just what was it that made Mr. P’s anniversaire so effroyable (that’s horrible in French - sounds kinda like f’ing incredible - appropriate)? The long version or the short? Let’s go for the short - I don’t got much time.

I found out the hard way that Punkin is quite allergic to eggs. Yes, hives, swollen eyes, itching, sneezing, nose dripping, and, la piece de resistance, projectile vomiting. All over mom-mom (and mom-mom’s favorite morning time fleecy sweater). And the bed. And the rug. Not the dog (how does she escape culinary karma?). And all over himself, poor kid. You see, I had the brilliant idea that on his 1st birthday Punkin would have the delectable delight of eating his very first scrambled egg. I had put off introducing highly allergenic foods like a good little diligent mama until he reached the appropriate age, despite all his other baby friends eating cheese and eggs and bread for weeks before him. But social pressure finally got the better of me and I knew I couldn’t keep my little monster in a mama bubble forever. So eggs. Why not? Well, I’ll tell you why not. Hives, swollen eyes, itching, sneezing, runny nose, and projectile vomiting. That’s why not. Not to mention anxiety, adrenaline, exhaustion, crying, and, finally, holding a 25 lb puffy-faced toddler for 4 hours straight.



He better not be allergic to chocolate or Easter is really going to suck.

Thank god the rest of the birthday was uneventful. Oma arrived in time to see the fading puffy eyes, Veggie got to spend a day home from work (yay!), and by dinner time Punkin was back to his old belly-laughing self. We didn’t get around to birthday “cake” (bowl of fruit topped with goat milk yogurt and a candle) or the obligatory 1st birthday haircut, but I promise our little Terry Bradshaw won’t go the way of Ryder Robinson or Presley Gerber.


There have been other events this month that shouldn’t be overshadowed by his near-death experience. Like clapping, signing for more and milk, feeding himself with a spoon and sippy cup, pointing, walking behind his M&D push toy, standing for a few seconds unassisted, all those simple new skills that make mamas go googoo and non-breeders roll their eyes. The past month has been developmental overdrive...next up: walking, talking, dating and making his parents feel like total dorks...oh wait, we already do...