You Say Its Your Birthday

The anticipation months, weeks, and days before Ellie's third birthday was nerve-racking. She memorized the answer to the question, "When is your birthday?" about as fast as she discovered that she loved chocolate. Melissa, her weekday babysitter had been keeping her up-to-date, as well as her grandparents.

We had been counting the days for her; asking her each morning and then telling her the correct number. We tucked her into bed the night before rehashing the details of the following day. "We will all go out to breakfast, then we are going to a hike in the woods. Grammy and Papi are going to come over for dinner, and they are going to bring your cake."

"My Sponge Bob Sdare Tant Cake!" she hollered with eagerness. It was the cake she ordered for her big event.

Apparently, we assumed that she knew about the presents. She didn't ask, so we figured she got that part nailed down. She slept in for her special day and woke us up at 6:45 am. We were all well-rested and surprised by the treat. She crawled into bed with us and we took turns giving her hugs and kisses and best wishes. Then we asked if she had already seen the presents downstairs on the kitchen table. She looked at us as if we were crazy.

"Presents for me?" she asked, dumbfounded.

We confirmed, pulled ourselves out of bed, and prepared ourselves for the expecting wrapping paper frenzy. As Abbie was getting Ellie out of her night-time diaper and into the 'big girl panties' she asked her mother, "Is there a tree too?"

"No, baby, that is at Christmas. Today is your birthday."

"Oh." She was satisfied with the response, and didn't seem too disappointed. Then she asked, "Are there socks too?"

Again she was reminded that on Christmas we have stockings, but today, October 8th, it was the day she was born. It was her birthday.

We enjoyed watching the dinky fingers and ferocious hands dive into and professionally unwrap the presents. Big sister, Emma, was great at sharing the excitement. The honoree soon decided that she wanted to eat at Coco's, so we all began showering ourselves and preparing for our day.

As we were driving to the restaurant, the Birthday Girl asks her mom a routine question, "Are we going to Grammy's or Melissa's today?"

My jaw just about chewed at the steering wheel as I was amazed by her obvious A.D.D. qualities. Then I jokingly answered sideways to Abbie in the seat next to me, "Is she retarded?"

Oh to be young and unconcerned with frivolous things like age and the celebration of birth.