Last Sunday, our boy turned one! We kept celebrations low key, just the three of us. After all, he doesn’t have a clue what day of the week it is, let alone that he’s charmed and exhausted the pants of us in almost equal measures for an entire year. There were though the essentials of any birthday: presents, cake, and a party, of sorts. There were even a few glasses of our favourite champagne after the birthday boy had retired for the evening.
His day started like any other Sunday, with his morning bottle in our bed. There followed the opening of his presents. He got a lot of new clothes from his grandparents, his aunties, uncles and cousins, including a rather nifty yellow rain jacket, of which I’m quite jealous, and his first pair of what can only be described as baby boxer shorts! He also received books and a xylophone. We gave him this book, found in mint condition in a charity shop, and a set of Ikea stacking cups. Last of the big spenders! We also made him a cake, with bunting, and a number ‘1’ t’shirt.
After his porridge and morning nap, it was time for a brunch of croissant and cake. The cake, a vanilla and chocolate marble cake, is a traditional birthday cake in Florian’s family, albeit not baked in this form as we don’t have the right tin. I like the idea that we’re continuing this tradition but I think I’ll decorate it differently every year, so adding a little of the Jones family customs into the mix too, where birthday cakes could be quite extravagantly themed.
The afternoon was spent playing with his new toys, or rather, his only toys, as all others had been packed away ready for storage.
Finally, we shared a birthday picnic tea on the lawn outside the apartment. Having packed up the kitchen, we improvised with a shop-bought picnic selection of falafel, houmous, burek, bread, olives etc. but I don’t think he minded very much judging by how he demolished it all. He may not have any teeth yet but boy can he eat!
He’s come on so much in the last few weeks, our boy: Wanting to walk all the time (holding our hands), crawling, clapping hands, babbling non-stop, esp. ‘Mama’, which though initially pleased me very much, we’ve come to realise is just a word for everything he likes, be it me, his Papa, his toys, or food. I can scarcely believe it but there he sits, our baby, growing up.
Happy birthday darling boy!