FOUR

YOU GUYS. My spawn is four now. FOUR. We had his birthday party last Saturday and when people told him happy birthday, he'd say, " Happy Birthday!" back to them and then at the end he thanked me for coming. Uh, try "thank you for birthing me," or at the very least, "thank you for throwing the party and driving me here and also buying me presents and making me a cake". But I mean I was there, so I guess "thank you for coming" is sort of appropriate. I guess.

My Avengers-loving loin fruit was PUMPED about this cake.
I'm nailing this momming gig. 
Too bad it doesn't pay for shit.

One of the difficult things about being divorced is holidays. I always tell my kid that holidays are when we celebrate them, not necessarily when the calendar says. My ex and I get along pretty well though, so we do joint birthday parties (read: I plan them and he chips in dollar-wise and we both invite our family and friends), and it's usually okay with minor family awkwardness. Like level 3 awkward. Not nothing, but not Jim announcing Pam being pregnant at their rehearsal dinner or anything. (I watch a lot of The Office reruns.) Honestly, any tension or weirdness is almost immediately diffused by other people arriving, so it's not even a big deal at all.

Y'all, my kid tho. He rocks. He's SO GD SMART. And kind. And funny. I think I'll keep him. We went out for ice cream last night for his "real" birthday and this place had so many unique and weird flavors like lychee and paan and kulfi and avocado, and this kid gets vanilla. Figures.


Because four year olds get the cone with sprinkles on their birthday.

It was his first time having a fancy cone with sprinkles, so maybe he just didn't want to overwhelm his palate. Sure. We'll go with that.

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