Last year, almost to the day, we headed to the park with blankets, burgers, and hot dogs to celebrate C’s first birthday. The party came at the end of an emotional week and we all lapped up the sun and the company. C was too cute in her little blue dress and, what I thought were super long pig-tails. She charmed the pants off all her guests and seemed to enjoy herself tremendously, until we brought out the cake, that is.
The cake came out and C flipped out. She had her own cake and point blank refused to look at it, let alone touch it. She was still in a “I won’t touch anything icky, sticky, or ewy” phase. Cake with icing was the last thing she wanted to smush. (Don’t be fooled, any cake desecration was done by M, when he dropped the cake, and G, C’s cousin, who went to town on the icing. Any chocolate on C’s face was put there by me… She didn’t appreciate.)
This year we headed to the same park with pretty much the same paraphernalia. The day was gorgeous and C was excited beyond belief. This time around her feelings about the cake were completely different. She insisted on it riding next to her in the car and she patted the top of the box all the way to the park. It was her “happy birthday cake” and she didn’t want to let it out of her sight.
Last year I made her her very own cake (From a mix. I’m not nuts.) so she could destroy it at her leisure. She wanted nothing to do with it and it mostly went to waste. This year I decided to spare myself the trouble and just go with the Costco cake for everyone. I wish I’d given C a second chance at her own cake. She would have demolished that thing and enjoyed every minute of the carnage.