We had a major milestone in our house last week--James turned three. It's hard to believe that it's been three years since I was sprawled on an operating table at Baylor Hospital while my surgeon worked to the tune of Sexual Healing, and my husband provided me with an overly detailed explanation of the inside of my uterus. For all of those inquiring minds out there, Jared says that the inside of my uterus is "totally red and really shiny!" I probably would have guessed that.
I can't believe it's been three years since I mustered up enough speech in my morphine-induced haze to tell every nurse, doctor, and orderly in the room that I was naming my baby Gerard after my French-Canadian father--after all, they had the very same hairline. Just as the nurse uncapped the Sharpie marker to scrawl the name "GERARD" across James's crib card, Jared announced that there would be no baby naming until all narcotics had cleared my system. And that my friends, is how we ended up with such a plain-jane name.
It's also hard to believe that I can no longer justify James's behavior in public by spouting my favorite phrase, "Sorry, he's two." Now I just say, "Sorry, that's the way he is." Call me crazy, but it just doesn't have the same ring to it.
And now, with no further delay, here are some pictures of the birthday extravaganza:
I found those watermelon candles in my mother's knick-knack drawer. Jared thought they were unacceptable, James thought they were amazing.
I don't know how well you can see it (hopefully not too well), but these gifts are wrapped using return address labels instead of tape. If you want to hang around at my co-worker's old PO box, zoom-in and Google map it.
And finally, here's my birthday boy, proudly displaying his Hostess cupcake. Is he my kid or what?!
We're supposed to have a legitimate party for James on Saturday, but Jared recently confessed that he "never really got around to mailing the invitations." That's funny, because I recently confessed that I "never really got around to packing his favorite fishing rod when we moved from Texas."
Anywho, if you live in Northern New England and feel like having a whale of a time, stop by our house this weekend--seriously. Trash day is on Saturday, so I'm going to try to convince the garbage collector to stick around for some cake, and hopefully our 89 year-old-neighbor to join in the festivities, too. I wonder if she likes a good old-fashined obstablce course. Now, if I could just get Sue to whip up one of her famous pinatas, Saturday's party would be complete.