I Keep My Promises

My sweet D. turned three years old yesterday.

The party on Sunday was good, really good. We had a nice crowd, good food, and really awesome hamburger and hot dog buns imported from out of state. Seriously. There are no parve hamburger buns in this town. Crazy.

D. had a good time running around and playing with all the kids. When it was cake time, we sat him at the head of the dining room table with all the kids and most of the adults crowded around him. He was overwhelmed -- covering his face and grinning madly. He also tried to stick his fingers right into the lovely Elmo cake.

Yesterday, I took the leftover cake into school to do a little classroom party. I kind of suspected that wouldn't go well, and I was right. When I walked into the room, D. assumed it was time to go home, so he picked up his backpack and headed for the door. "Birthday!" I told him, and the rest of the class and the teacher joined in, but D. calmly and politely explained that he would really prefer to leave, thank you screamed, "D. go bye bye! BYE BYE! BYEBYEBYEBYE!!!!!. It was fun.

It's hard, the whole birthday thing. I want very much to believe that D. will grow up and live on his own and have a family and a job and be normal. And maybe it's perfectly normal for a 3-year-old to be so into his routine that any deviation from it is met with resistance staunch opposition screaming tantrums. But, um, he's, like, the second oldest in his class, and none of the other kids act like that.

D. with his newly-short hair looks like a big boy. He is a big boy -- he is wearing mostly size 5 stuff now. But his face suddenly looks older, and it makes it hard to think of him as the same child he was just a few days ago. I expect more from him. I cut him less slack already. And I am his mother. How will the rest of the world treat him?

Is it unconditional love if it hurts my heart?