battle of the birthdays

And it is the season of baby birthday parties.

As we (well, I, mostly, let's be honest) have primarily made friends with new parents whose babies were born pretty much the same time as mine were, we have a string (6!) of birthday parties coming up over the next few weekends.

I am not even joking when I say that I am tremendously excited. Mainly because the babies don't really know it's their birthday yet and it's more of a get together for big people with babies; to have a few drinks and a meal. Sebastian and Molly's day is at the end of all of them, which is a good for a few reasons.

1) I can check out what other people are doing for their 1 year old's first. Not that I am competitive or comparing or whatever, just curious and checking on the standards I have to adhere to here.

2) Ours is a slightly different party, of course, and always will be. There will be an element of sadness to it, especially as we release balloons for Molly. She will also have her own cupcakes, as will Sebastian.

But some people go big. I mean, I'm talking cakes made out of mile-high fondant shapes, piles of decorations, themes, dress-up, little mason jars filled with gluten-sugar-egg-free puddings, goodie bags. Actual craft. Where mums (stay at home mums, I would haste to add, come on), spend days tying ribbons around things, getting their child to pose for a professional photographer wearing a crocheted dinosaur suit sent in from a shop in Whichita. Or something.

I am all for this when Sebastian actually knows it's his birthday. I'm in, and I'm going to throw my euphemistic balls to the wall and endeavour - like all good Clapham mummies - to make his the most funnest coolest excitingest birthday on the frigging block. Minus the e-numbers where possible, and instead of hiring a pet zoo or a maypole for the garden, instead get one of the Brit's friends to dress up as a clown or do magic tricks. Or something.

There's an entire industry here. And just wait until I bust it open when he is 3. Apparently I can get away with two relatively normal and chilled birthdays, and then they turn 3 and it's like "Right. How do we differentiate here, people? All our babies are born in March and we are all doing the same fucking thing. Taking two Xanax and throwing a party."

I jest of course. Mostly. Because I don't want to be throwing huge, extravagant parties and going completely over-the-top. For one we don't have the space, and for two, I have now witnessed a handful to see how crazily exhausting they can be for the mothers. One of my friends had a Frozen party for her 4 year old a few weeks ago, and the whole class at school came.

It was like throwing an event for 25 gerbils. All running around in different directions.
She did helluva well, and the cake was the only really sugary thing she served, so none of them were vomiting on the furniture or climbing up the walls.

But I am also kind of excited for one day, when I see Sebby's little face when he has some friends over for a party. Where he blows out his candles, dressed up like Superman or Thomas The Tank Engine, and watch the delight on his face during the whole thing.
I also imagine how he will sagely, or maybe even nonchalantly, explain to anyone who doesn't know why there is a cake in the corner with the name 'Molly' written on it, by saying, "Molly is my twin sister in heaven."
Or "the pink balloons are for Molly in heaven, as it's her birthday today too."