I suppose that once you become a parent you learn that things don't always go as planned. You dress your little doll baby up in an elaborate blue outfit comprised of corduroy overalls, a sweet button down shirt and a matching beanie, and he spits up all over himself seconds before the grumpy teenage photographer at Kiddie Kandids snaps the first picture. You plan a perfect mommy and me day at the pool and it rains. You work for hours scrubbing your kitchen floor and creating a picture perfect room for your dinner guests and then your 15 month old spills dish washing soap and baking soda all over it.
You spend months planning the ideal four year old circus themed birthday party at pump it up, and three hours before the big event the birthday boy trips and falls at a restaurant and splits his head open after banging it on the jagged edge of a refrigerator case. Yes, folks, that was our day. Poor little man. The day was going so well. Our Zack was beyond excited for his big day. He woke up talking about his party. He oohed and ahhed over the big yellow birthday cake covered in frosting clowns and balloons. The day was sunny and warm. We took a family stroll down to Masterpiece Deli, about a 15 minute walk from home. Zack's Mor-Mor and Pa-Pou (grandma & grandpa) joined us. Lunch was uneventful, we sat outside and Zack babbled on about his upcoming party. We finished up and went to the restroom to clean up. On our way out Zack ran a few steps ahead of me, tripped and fell. As if in slow motion I saw that this was not going to be a minor fall. He fell to his knees and then right into...oh no, a sharp corner on a dingy refrigerator case. I stopped dead. How bad was it? Maybe it would be a little scratch.... no. He cried immediately and sprung back up. He turned toward me, his wails becoming more hysterical. The blood. Dripping down his face. His fear.
I could bore you all with the details of the day, but long story short, the rest of our day included an ambulance ride, eight stitches, and just barely arriving, 15 minutes late to the birthday party of the century with doctors orders-no bouncing.
Somehow that little boy persevered and still enjoyed his party. He walked around resembling Frankenstein with his blood crusted hair (we cannot wash it for 24 hours), and he smiled. He went down the slides, and we steered him away from the bounce house. He ate his cake and opened his gifts. He looked at his daddy and told him "I'm having a good time at my party". The poor thing feel asleep as soon as we buckled him in his car seat for the return trip home. It had been a long, draining day, not exactly what I had planned, but then again, I am sure we are in for a lifetime of surprises.