It’s that time of year again – I’m turning another year older.
This year, it’s going to be better. And I can guarantee it will be better because I just don’t care. Truly, I don’t care.
Last year I had it in my mind that my first birthday as a mom to Baby MPB was supposed to be ultra special. I guess I had built it up in my mind to be an amazing first. And, it was a colossal disaster, probably the worst “first” we had all year.
So this year, I’m embracing my birthday for exactly what it is – a day that marks the fact that I’m another year older. This birthday is just another birthday. No pressure.
Asides from hoping that Baby MPB sleeps through the night (which we hope anytime he is going through painful teething), all my birthday plans are not reliant on anyone else. Basically I intend to play with Baby MPB whenever I can. I’ll probably do some work during the day and I’ll go to spin class – just like any other day. The exception is that I’m planning to get take-out sushi for dinner for Mr. MPB and I. (We’ll probably make something else for Baby MPB. As an aside, at what age is it appropriate to give a baby/toddler sushi?) Oh, and let’s not forget wine, I’ll be having a glass of wine (or two) with dinner. And on the weekend I’m hoping to get some time in the mountains to enjoy the scenery and the fresh air.
I realize this might sound slightly grouchy, but I’m honestly not trying to be. I’m just determined not to have a repeat of last year’s disaster. And by focusing on that matters (love, good food and wine) it should be a pretty good day.
Someone very wise told me that year two of parenting is a bit easier because the pressure of all the firsts is gone, and that’s exactly where my mind is.
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