Happy 5th Birthday, Owen!

Today is Owen’s birthday, but he doesn’t know it.  We’re celebrating on Saturday, so we decided to just pretend that Saturday was the day, since the anticipation is beginning to wear him down anyway.  We are also trying to get away with one more year of not having a friend party, per se, but just a small family one.  I can’t decide if we are being schmucks about this or not?  As a kid I always had friend parties, although nothing over the top.  In the early seventies one had friends over and played a few games and had cake and ice cream.  All of the parties that Owen goes to now are at a facility of some sort and not in a home.  And he is still at the age when parents stay for the parties; I admit to rather looking forward to being able to drop him off and pick him up. 

I was thinking this morning about how I didn’t really meet Owen on his birthday anyway.  They wrapped him in a towel and thrust the burrito-like package in our direction for a quick look, and then he went up to the NICU while I was sewn back together.  I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed to visit him there until 2:30 a.m. that next morning, although Sean did visit him and sent me a video.

I thought of seeing him for the first time – a large 9 pound 3 oz baby, attached to wires and monitors, and for some reason dressed in a random pair of denim overalls, which we later found out was the only thing they had in the NICU large enough to fit him.  No wonder he was angry.  This morning Owen was in the bed with me and I heard him wake up, thrash around like the bed was on fire before flinging himself against my back and kissing my shoulder.  He then said in a loud voice, “Hey Mom!  I sneaked up on you and woke you up with a kiss!”

A few days ago Owen said to me, “I can’t wait until I turn five, because it is not easy being four.”  I of course had to snicker at that, because probably four is basically as easy as it gets: you are able to communicate your wants and needs, but still have next to no responsibilities.  I remember turning five myself, and I remember, vaguely, my fifth birthday.  I received a blue dress with balloons on it from my grandparents, and I thought it was the prettiest dress I had ever seen.

Owen is very excited about his cake, and balloons, and of course the presents.  He keeps telling me, “You can have THREE pieces of my cake, Mom!”  And I usually say, “but can I have a slice for breakfast?”  And he’ll tell me no, that if I do that, he’ll have to tell Granny and Pa on me.  Fair enough.  J

Happy 5^th Birthday, Owen!