It seems like only a few weeks ago I was writing about why we didn’t “do” presents last Christmas for all the boys – and yet now, my Grinch like antics have spread like impetigo to Casper’s second birthday this coming Monday. Yes, my darling little cherub of a ‘baby’ is turning two and what are we, his abnormally large immediate family doing about it? Diddly squat, that’s what?! There’ll be no Daily Mail headlines of this toddler’s parents lavishing him with a diamond-encrusted tractor ride party at Daylesford Organic Farm with Mr Tumble as special guest and Apple watches in the party bags, all at a grand cost of £237k; in fact, the headline will just about make it to my personal Facebook page and perhaps my Instagram, with a modest picture of the tot in question ramming his face with the Asda equivalent of Colin the Caterpillar cake. Last minute guilt might also manifest in the shape of a Gruffalo helium balloon.
But before I get bombarded with emails slamming my Miss Hannigan approach to birthdays, hear me out… Our little dude is smothered with love 365 days a year, has every piece of plastic, singing crap a 2 year old could possibly desire (and all the wooden ones too, that every “wholesome” parent urges their defiant child to play with and yet I’ve never heard little Tommy scream a toy shop down as he isn’t allowed the rainbow, hand painted sausage dog on a string, in the same way they do in the TOMY sponsored aisles in the super market) and wants for nothing, bar the chance to scoff a whole packet of Jammy Dodgers in one sitting whilst binge watching Paw Patrol.
In short, my youngest son has everything a 2 year old could ask for (if he ever actually used words, as opposed to the grunts and pointing) – he has his scooter, skateboard and football*, mostly hand-me-downs or second-hand, but his prized possessions none the less; any additional kid friendly paraphernalia would only get pushed aside in favour of the aforementioned Holy Trinity chattels*. I’m just taking advantage that he doesn’t know the day of the week, let alone the date he popped from my fanny, and that consumerism hasn’t yet taken over his sentient being. Sure I see him eyeing up the kids TV ads, but at his glorious age of 2, it’s just primary coloured white noise.
So this weekend we may indeed head to the local farm for an ice cream, let him open that day’s Amazon delivery, shower him with 1-2-1 time and take the token birthday pic – but on Monday (his actual birthday), Mr Only Girl and I will be dropping Cas with his doting grandparents, to spend the day being adored by even more of “his people”, and heading to work – just no one tell the toddler his birthday’s not Saturday/Sunday!
NB. After writing this a few days ago and suddenly coming over all Wicked Witch of the West, I panic bought any Gruffalo themed merch Amazon could chuck my way in time! So Cas will be heading off with his new fluffy back-pack, wellies and cuddly toy tomorrow to his grandparents! *Hangs head in point-not-so-well-proven shame*