Quinn turned five on Tuesday and I didn’t write a word. The night he turned three, I wrote one of my favorite essays that I have ever written. I published it at Mamalode today rather than face this new reality. This fiveness.
Five. Quinn is five. He wanted a vanilla Spiderman cake, but I didn’t know the vanilla part – or possibly I ignored it – I don’t believe in cakes that aren’t chocolate. WOC, I say, waste of calories. He cried when I produced my usual delicious Costco chocolate cake the size of a five year old boy. If you haven’t had a Costco chocolate cake, well, here’s the deal, you’re wasting your time making your own cakes. Costco’s cakes are better. Eventually, I lured him into helping me decorate the cake with the Spiderman and Dr. Octopus figurines I purchased and a lot of plastic lizards made in China, which undoubtedly leaked toxic chemicals all over my pristine Costco chocolate cake. (Never fear, I ate it anyway.)
After much discussion and a few tears, I think Quinn came to understand this great life truth: Vanilla cakes are yucky and I won’t buy them. There should be a picture of my beautiful Quinn with his awesome chocolate cake here, but I forgot my camera and we didn’t take any pictures at his party.
MY GOD. What kind of shoddy operation is this? And I have the nerve to call this a mommy blog?
I do have a picture of Saige’s new hair. She really, really, really wanted purple in it. I really, really, really don’t have as strong an opinion about hair as I have about cake. If Quinn wants purple hair, I swear as you are my witness, he can have purple hair. Vanilla cake? NEVER.
I know, I know, you would never deny your precious cupcake the cake of his wildest desirings for your own selfish cake happiness, nor ignore birthday requests for vanilla cakes because, you want what now? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.
I know. I’m mean. He got a cake and presents and a swimming party, leave me alone. Actually, as long as we’re all judging my parenting, how do we feel about this? I had an OB appointment this week and the kids wanted to know why and so, because I usually answer direct questions with direct answers, I told them it was to check on the new baby in my tummy and see if it was okay. Post long discussion about whether we will have a brother or a sister, Saige, who is beside herself with excitement about a live baby doll in the house, asked when the new toy – or rather baby sister – would arrive? To which, I replied, “sometimes babies grow and sometimes they don’t, so we’ll see how this one grows and then we’ll know.”
Quinn took that literally. He asked me yesterday if I remembered to water the baby “so it grows.” Garrett, it is possible, is routing harder for his tomato plants. Nate cries every time Saige says it’s a girl – named Abigail – because then, he wails, he is still the littlest boy.
What say you? Hit me. (KINDLY.) TMI for kids? Too blunt? Just right? The reactions are mixed IRL. How did you talk to older kids about the possibility of loss? Or did you wait to tell until later in the pregnancy to avoid the issue?