I can’t wait!
That’s been her mantra for the last month. It’s all I hear.
“Daddy, my birthday is in 3 weeks; I can’t wait!”
“Daddy, Mommy says my birthday is only 10 days away; I can’t wait!”
“Daddy, can you believe TOMORROW is my birthday? I can’t wait!”
And now the wait is over.
Today, we’ll go to Chuck E. Cheese's and eat the worst pizza on earth. We’ll buy tokens and wear party hats and sing off-key. There will be pink wrapping paper and Barbies and something called Zoobles. We’ll do all of these things because that’s what you do when little girls turn seven.
But in quiet rebellion to the excitement, I’ll feel a twinge of sadness. The fact that she's growing up isn't something I want to celebrate. So, we’ll take pictures of the new seven year old, but I’ll picture her at seven months old. We’ll sing Happy Birthday to the party girl, but I’ll remember singing lullabies to the baby girl. She’ll smile all day, but I’ll think of her first smile ever.
Ugh.
However, I’ve resolved to mask my despondency. It’s a big day and Heather says I have to get on board. I’m ready; I can do this. Today, I’m going to fake-enthusiastically fulfill the three dad duties thrust upon men for generations: I’ll pay for the food, I’ll take the pictures and I’ll dispose of the trash.
And with every trip for more tokens, I’ll stop, kiss her on the cheek and say…
Happy Birthday, Sydney. Daddy loves you. You were right; this party is amazing. I know you thought this day might never get here, but somehow I’ve always known that it would.
Comments