Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my baby with the innate reflexive
response of a mama bear who will throw her own body in front of a wayward
bullet or scratch out the eyes of anyone who even thinks harm on him. But liking
him has taken some time. Unlike what seems like most of the moms around me, I
did not forge a bond with Ryan right away. Plagued with fatigue, the grief and
guilt over ending Lucy’s life, and the loss of the tiny bit of temporarily regained
freedom I had experienced just before Ryan was born—when Caedmon was 5 and Addie
was at the much more independent age of almost-2—I just didn’t have it in me
to appreciate this gift that God had given to us. While others were #soinlove
with their babies (and rightly so!), I felt like a monster as I mechanically nursed
him, changed his diapers, held him to me when he cried, and then checked my
watch to see if he had turned 18 yet. Reading up on postpartum depression now,
I recognize that I shared some of the symptoms, including bouts of explosive
frustration and thoughts of “Ryan—all of them—are better off with a more
competent mom”, though I’m not sure which are legitimate signs of a deeper
illness and which are simply a result of a poor attitude. Because Ryan was not a particularly difficult baby; I just had a particularly sour heart. Thankfully, even the
worst storms subside, and babies grow (and become easier as a result). It was 8
months before we had what I wrote in my journal as a “budding camaraderie”. 10
months before I could honestly say that I enjoyed him. And now, at 13 months? I
no longer feel like I got roped into the worst babysitting gig ever. In fact,
you could even say that I like him (most of the time), which considering our
journey, is quite a development. But even more significant, I’m learning to be
thankful for him.
Recently, I met up with two old friends who, after I shared
(and complained) about my difficult year, related their journeys this past year
with their babies—the ones with special needs and the ones they’ve lost due to multiple
miscarriages—and all of a sudden, I felt like the biggest jerk in the world.
But also the luckiest mama to have three beautiful, healthy babies who could
have been dropped in our laps by storks, given the relative ease in their
arrivals. Talk about a shift in perspective and gratitude. And so I’m thankful
for Ryan, our pleasant, smiley, quiet baby who likes to hug us and his stuffed
animals, can get past any obstacle to scurry up the stairs, and loves to wake
before 5am to hang out with Mommy.
Ryan turned one earlier last month, and it was a day Wayne
and I had looked forward to for a long time. We had joked that we should throw an Independence Day party,
celebrating our freedom from the most challenging of the little years, but we
thought that might be somewhat offensive to our children. So instead,
we went with a Survivor theme, because that is exactly how we felt about RyRy’s
first year—that we survived… by God’s grace and the skin of our teeth, we
survived. Now for another 17 more years...
With little steam left after a whirlwind May, RyRy almost didn't have a party. The thought of putting together a huge celebration was just not in my bandwidth, but I also didn't want him to be that child who grows up and asks, "Where are the pictures from my first birthday party?"... only to be met with our guilty stares. And so less than a week before his birthday, I scrambled together an intimate and simple get-together of friends and family who know and love Ry and who were so essential in helping us survive this past year.
Truth be told, I have been aching to throw a Survivor-themed first birthday since Caedmon turned one, but for one reason or another, I never got to. Here, though, was my chance!
It was partially because I was tasked to cut out leaves for our upcoming VBS anyway, to make vines just like these, that I decided to go ahead with a party, Survivor-style. I figured I might as well put in the work once and get rewarded twice! And then thanks to my friend, Winnie, who pretty much runs a party supply warehouse disguised as a well-appointed home, I had access to this awesome grass skirt and other Survivor-y decorations, like faux tropical leaves and coconut tumblers (because that's exactly what survivors drink from on deserted islands).
Our menu for the day: kalua pig (that was SO easy to make in the slow cooker), sesame chicken strips from Teriyaki Time, a vinaigrette slaw, white rice, Hawaiian rolls, fruit skewers, and chocolate chip cookies with coconut and macadamia nuts. Ry's birthday cake was the chocolate cake I always make; this time, the toasted coconut not only tasted good, but it fit the theme perfectly! (In actuality, Survivors from the show usually starve or "feast" on plain rice porridge... We were pretty kind to our guests, in my opinion.)
What does one wear to a Survivor party? If we were sticklers to the theme, we would all wear close to nothing, but camo pants with a onesie works pretty well, too!
Our one activity for the day—what I called our "immunity challange"—was the same one we played at Addie's first birthday, in which we instructed guests to bring a non-food, non-toy item that would entice RyRy's attention. They were pitted against one another in heats, shaking their objects and trying to get Ry to crawl towards them and choose their object, thus advancing them to the next round until we had one winner, the "Ultimate Survivor"!
Though Auntie Fay didn't win the title of Ultimate Survivor, she gets points for Most Creative "Item"—Uncle Ed!
Here, Caedmon stands in for Aunt Sam with her item, the empty bubble bottle.
And here Ry goes...
He questions the bubble bottle. Looks at Uncle Ed...
And he goes for the bubble bottle!
Caedmon celebrates with a victory dance!
Aunt Sam is our Ultimate Survivor! That immunity necklace looks good on her.
(Though, it was brought up to us later—by Steven, Sam's husband—that Sam's item, the bubble bottle, was technically a toy originally, so she should actually have been disqualified from the competition. I suppose she outwitted us...)
RyRy with my side of the family. (You can't fully tell, but Wayne and I are purposely dressed like Jeff Probst, the host of the show Survivor.)
Favors: more chocolate chip cookies, but wrapped in whatever tropical island paraphernalia I could find in my closet. Raffia works!
