New Mummy Blog: Bowing To Birthday Party Pressure
We have a big birthday looming. The big… three. Silly me, I didn’t realise that it was such a big deal, until the soon-to-be-three year old told me.
It’s the first year she’s really understood in advance that it’s her birthday soon. And she’s sat through lots of other birthdays recently, watching candle blowing and present opening with shining, envious eyes, so she knows what’s coming. And boy, is she planning to milk it.
[Copyright: Yahoo/Claire Sparks]
I thought I still had years ahead, at least another one while we’re still in the preschool years, where birthdays could be small scale, low key, family affairs. Years, I thought, before the pressure would be on and the list of party guests and party expectations were as long as my arm.
Not so. She might only be turning three but she’d put the birthday plans for most 30 year olds in the shade. Minus the alcohol, obviously. Although that might be needed for me by the end of it.
It’s painfully apparent last year’s family lunch and trip to the aquarium just won’t cut it.
Present wise, it’s been easy. I love buying for her at the best of times, she’s the most enthusiastic recipient of anything glittery, princessy or pink. And she’s been very consistent in the answer to the question of what she’d like for her birthday. A bike.
It’s got pink, it’s got purple, it’s got handlebar streamers, a doll carrier, a basket. Throw in a Frozen helmet and we’re getting top marks from the birthday girl.
It’s here already. She’s seen the box and she knows it’s something to do with her birthday. The problems start here. She thinks that inside the box (large, bike-sized box) is her birthday cake.
This cake has taken on monstrous proportions. Not just literally, either. She’s put in her order and it’s something like this: an Ariel (Little Mermaid) cake specifically with a mermaid tail and mermaid hair, sparkly and pink (of course), and with Prince Eric and his dog Max involved somewhere too.
I spoke to a cake maker who quoted £146 for this masterpiece. So then I headed to Pinterest and YouTube. I am no baker and this seems like a pretty ambitious starter project but I could have a go, right? Wrong. It’s pretty clear my DIY cake project will end up as one of those disaster memes with a picture of what it should look like side by side with my shocker - a hideously deformed fishwife that will probably make my daughter cry.
I lie awake at night worrying about the look of disappointment on her face. And I wonder: how did my life come to this?
Then there’s the other irrational party-related worries. Like what party games work with two and three year olds - pass the parcel is unnecessary torture for this hard-of-sharing age bracket who can’t understand why they’re being handed a present only to have to pass it on. Musical chairs ends in tears or injury or both. And a piñata is a disaster waiting to happen.
As I wade through the dazzlingly pink and sparkly world of little girls’ birthday parties, I count my lucky stars that I have a cohort, a cohost, to help me find my way. My birthday girl’s best friend at nursery was born on the same day, and with an older sister aged seven, her mum is a pro. So when she suggested a joint party for the girls, I knew I was saved. If only she could bake.
