I never thought fifteen years ago I would be sitting where I am today. Hell, if you'd asked me eight years ago I probably would have told you the same thing. But as I'm sitting in my kitchen, watching the dozens of people move around me, passing by with cake and balloons and streamers; all the colors blurring together forming paint strokes across my vision of pinks and whites, and all other girly things that three year old little girls who truly believe they are princesses, like, I'm continually reminded never to get too comfortable with the direction you think life is pushing you.
My Dad told me once when I was a kid, “Son, the day you get married will be the one day in your life when you'll have absolutely no say in what happens to you.” He forgot to mention that my three-year old's birthday party would be exactly the same.
Cece told me at 4am this morning, (this new time she loves getting up) that there would be ponies at our house. When you're in that state between sleep and awake, and your brain is only thinking logically at about 50%, you don't really comprehend anything that's said to you.
There were indeed ponies in my front yard, today.
And a cotton candy machine, and dozens of pizza boxes, and if Cece had had it her way, we would have had a moon bounce too. My wallet had to put up a stink at the latter. She's so predictably curled around my finger and I've spent too many countless hours with tiara's and feather boa's adorned to make her happy. I've done the Handy Manny impression at least five thousand times, and sometimes I let her lick the bowl when we make brownies. She gets a stomach ache every time.
It's just a reason for me to rock her in the chair that used to sit by her crib. She'll only climb into it with us when she's not feeling well, and we take every opportunity she gives us. She's a big girl now. She doesn't let us even forget that for a second.
She hates carrots and taking naps.
Pam dances around our dining room, smiling at the mothers who all look the same to me. These women either have children in play group, are pre-school Mom's or we've simply met them in the park. Regardless, their children- like in Cecelia's age, are now screaming and running around. Some inside, others out, and yet Pam continues to keep her cool. She somehow knows that Sarah Burke's mother hasn't gotten anything to drink, and that there wasn't a yo-yo in one of the goodie bags that she gave to one of the children. All the while she's managed to clean up from the food and now is finishing up a very excitable game of Musical Chairs. It's funny how some things never change.
When Cecelia was born, the first week was awful. I refuse to romanticize the initial bringing-home-baby moments. She cried constantly. She didn't like her bassinet, she only wanted to be held, and Pam wasn't sleeping. And when Pam doesn't sleep, we all don't sleep. She gets crazy. But that saying of this too shall pass, definitely did. One thing turns into another though when it comes to a child, and now we're dealing with trying to get Cecelia to go to pre-school without throwing a fit every day. She hates leaving us and thinks when we leave we're never coming back.
I'm not even close to being the perfect Dad. Most of the time I have no clue what I'm doing, and I just wing it. I let her nibble at my Wendy's french fries that I dip in my frosty...I never put her to bed on time when we're alone, and sometimes when I'm exhausted and have a head ache, I've let her just 'cry it out' in her room. I don't always make the best choices but I love that little girl like crazy.
She's hunched over the table, Pam holding back her curls so she doesn't light her head on fire, staring at the three candles flickering back at her in the dark room. Eleven little faces are crowded around the table, mouths hung open in suspense waiting for Cece to blow them out. I know within an hour she'll be passed out on the couch from too much sugar, and Pam and I will share beers in a silent home, enjoying the quiet, but for now she's busy thinking of a wish.
I'm sure she's wishing for never ending bowls of Lucky Charms, or a puppy, or never to have to go to pre-school again. But I'm pretty sure there's nothing that little girl wants that she doesn't have. My only wish is that she grows up happy. That she tries her best, that she constantly strives for something more. So as she darkens the room with one swift blow, I glance away hiding my misty eyes and savor the mental picture.
