Birthday curses
Oct
24
On Saturday it was my second daughter’s 9th birthday. In her short life we have already established her birthday will suck every third year. In 2000 we’d been to Disneyland and there was a nasty run-in with Donald Duck in which he thought he was being funny by taking something of hers and pretending to stomp on it in dramatic fashion. Not a good idea. She cried buckets. That year for her 3rd birthday we took her to the Disneyland Hotel for lunch and guess who showed up? Donald. It went downhill form there. Then I had the gall to give birth to another baby three days later. Every year since the birthdays have been muddled as much as I try to separate them.
In 2003 we’d moved to the Front Range and for her birthday the girls and I went to the pet shop and picked out six goldfish for the sixth birthday. At a candy store before heading out for a movie, it was discovered that I didn’t have my debit card with me. The last place it was used was at Target in the card reader. Someone had pulled it out of the card reader and turned it in rather than spending my money. Back we went. At Target we picked up the candy and the card. On the way to the theatre, the truck broke down mid-acceleration on the freeway and I drifted off onto the side of the road. We sat there for some time until I could get it started long enough to drive it to a gas station and wait more. We waited long past the movie start time when I made the sad call to scrap the plan and head home. Once there we found all six goldfish dead in the water. Six was a bad birthday. I was glad I didn’t buy the hamster she wanted.
On this 9th birthday we’d planned for the zoo ever since it we learned it was free admission day. Of course it started off well, but wouldn’t you know that someone called in labor during our trek through the bird house? It was early enough that I didn’t have to dash off, but my conversation wasn’t cryptic enough to confuse a kid now keen on labor triage. She cried the rest of the zoo visit, declaring it the worst birthday ever next to the one where all of her fish died. I still didn’t rush off and we stayed until the zoo closed and went to dinner of her choosing (Chipotle). Then while I went to do a labor assessment she went to Target with her dad who met us late. I was able to come home before they finshed shopping since my client wasn’t active yet.
But I had to go back and was gone all night. Result: Happy yet deliriously tired mom with a VBAC to be proud of and one of the world’s cutest baby boys not born on the cursed birthday of my daughter.
Fast forward to this morning. My husband lets me sleep in as catch-up since my morning clients all gave birth in the last week or so. And if you’re keeping track you’ll know that today is my third daughter’s sixth birthday. I forgot. In the intense focus on how the other girl’s birthday always sucks I breathed a sigh of relief to have it behind me and forgot about the other. I was so sad to have missed the morning excitement (he readied them all and drove them to school) and felt horrible.
Luckily she is sweet and lives without the trauma of Donald Duck and dead goldfish in her past. An Oreo shake from Fatburger was instant forgiveness.
October 25th, 2006 at 5:12
Donald Duck and dead goldfish. She needs to pick a new birthday.
Laughing over the gassy midwives and knowing how you feel about missing a birthday!
October 27th, 2006 at 4:33
[...] Remember the birthday Donald Duck ruined? My daughter must’ve sensed something. The Duck is Smooth (the click through is totally not safe for work). Posted by frectis Filed in I Talk A Lot, I Have Kids [...]