This weekend I threw them a donut-riffic joint birthday party and while I loved conceptualizing the theme and seeing their little excited faces, I couldn’t help but think why are we celebrating them? Kids are all like “Oh hey, I was basically helpless for the past year and had every need catered to, so by all means, shower me with gifts and parties and cake and ice cream and donuts. I sooooo deserve it.”
WRONG. You is cute, but what did you do this past year? Oh, you learned how to walk. And eat food. And poop/pee on the potty. And sleep in a bed without bars. Awesome. Welcome to life as a civilized member of society. Do I get Twizzlers every time I deuce in the toilet? No. Your life is a party every day, kids.
WHAT ABOUT MOM? Caps necessary. Not only did mom have her body annihilated by growing a human and giving birth, but she does every f’ing thing in the entire universe for them. I am the last person to sit down to eat in my household. I am the first one to pop up when someone needs something. I am in a constant state of motion always wiping butts, loading the dishwasher, putting someone down for a nap, tucking them back in, gritting my teeth – why won’t they sleep??? – , wiping more butts, bringing them a snack, getting them another snack because that snack won’t do, trying to clean up the mess of toys they made but seriously why bother until they’re actually asleep? And even then, also why bother because they are going to make the same mess the next day?
Not only did I give them life, but it’s expected that I plan a party for them to celebrate their invalid-ness and total dependence on me. Ok, admittedly I do like planning in that I like pinning elaborate things to a Pinterest board when I should be sleeping. I pick a theme and try to do some great DIY projects that inevitably fail because I’m suffering from such a severe case of mom brain that I CAN’T EVEN SPELL MY CHILD’S NAME CORRECTLY.
I shop for the gifts, I wrap said gifts. I decorate for the party. I run around playing hostess at the party while sweat runs down my face in rivulets. In two hours my quads are screaming and the party is over. My champagne is warm and by this point I’ve lost the desire to drink. Then it’s time to clean up, bathe the kids, pop them into bed and hold them down as their freakish sugar-induced strength makes them even more resistant to sleeping. Clean up some more, make a list of all the thank you notes I’ll have to write to make it sound like my kids actually wrote them when they would rather eat crayons than use them. Then finally I collapse into an exhausted heap as I scroll through photos that neither one of them wanted to pose for but my God we are getting them because momma worked hard at that backdrop.
We are celebrating the wrong people. This day should be for me! I was the one that was in labor. Gripped my husband’s arm and told him to find the anesthesiologist now because these contractions were wringing my insides the way you wring out a wet towel and that epidural needed to happen about two hours ago. I had my body torn apart after pushing for an ungodly amount of time. I crapped myself in front of complete strangers with six-figure degrees as I brought my babies into this world and lost all sense of dignity. All of this is in addition to the 10 months of pregnancy (oh yes, it is that long) and lifetime of bowing down to a set of little dictators that are as cute as they are relentless.
Pregnancy and motherhood is no joke. We have gender reveal parties, baby showers, and kids birthday parties. It’s all about them! Oh yes, we have our own birthdays, but um, have you had a post-kid birthday? They are THE WORST. Same old shit, just another day. But insert a card your husband picked up and wrote the kids’ name inside of. Drinking excessively is not encouraged because you are pretty much guaranteeing that something inside of your child’s brain will pick up on the fact that mommy is drunk AF and needs to sleep it off so of course they wake up at 5am more turnt than you were off that Cab Sav last night.
Please, can we moms all band together to start making mom parties a thing? I’m not talking about your Mother’s Day brunches filled with STILL HAVING TO TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS. Let’s cue up Destiny Child’s Survivor and stay up until 10:30pm! Because face it, the fact that we are surviving motherhood with our sanity somewhat in tact is a cause for celebration in and of itself. I’ll even volunteer to throw myself the first one. Mine would feature the following components, and yes, this is a 24-hour affair:
- Wake up to an empty, yet clean house
- Have coffee while watching Bravo
- Leisurely sip a mimosa while eating artisan donuts and pastries
- Take the longest shower ever of my life
- Sit in the quiet and clean house until other moms start to arrive later that evening. Do nothing but eat. Read. Watch TV. Nap.
- My house has the following for the party:
- A charcuterie board the size of Rhode Island
- All the desserts with the calories removed
- 90s/early 2000s pop music plays on loop
- I get to saber a champagne bottle, preferably before any drinking begins (*note this is on my bucket list)
Basically think of the party scene from Bad Moms. But maybe with some balloons and a cake where instead of singing, everyone just starts a slow clap for me. And please dear God, let Carla be there because she is the best.
So, who’s in? I’ll start a secret Pinterest board and get a babysitter on retainer. Let’s do this. We deserve it.