Seven days until Briar’s birthday.
There is so much to live up to, and yet, I fear it’s all my own stuff. Briar will be fine with pink streamers, a pink cake and some things to unwrap. And she’ll have more, I am imaginative and energetic, willing to hang from trees or paint my nose, these have never been my problems.
This is about me. It’s not a great feeling, a little like the obnoxious parents screaming from the bleachers, demanding that the coaches take a kid out. This is about yearning. Wanting to belong and wanting to have. It’s about the cake not falling and the sky not clouding. It’s wishing for perfection and missing, that by taking a deep breath I’d see, that perfection stands before me, waiting with open arms.
This week I’ll go and I’ll buy princess accoutrements, I’ll order the frothy pink cake and I’ll knock on the doors of our neighbors.
This week I’ll breathe deep and see perfection and when the time comes I’ll look into the eyes of my sweet baby and see the dazzling reflection of candles and joy.
*Updated to add that I still welcome all birthday ingenuity you care to share.