His birthday is always really uncomfortable for me, but this one was definitely more uncomfortable. It kind of feels like your own birthday, but with an uncomfortable pit in your stomach the whole day. Wishing it to end and wanting to hold on at the same time.
I'm mostly an extrovert, but I don't really like a big deal made of me in social settings. I am one to be with the party and perhaps planning it, but not so much the one being celebrated.
When your child dies, you become the one people celebrate and it feels so weird. My own birthday is weird enough (though as years go on, I could care less about my own birthday). But his is just an odd day.
I don't feel like I should grocery shop. Is that what you do for your birthday? What about on the anniversary of the worst day of your life? I feel like everything I do needs to in some way honor his life.
Elliot had a dental appointment that I scheduled. I took the kids to Target to pick up Q-Tips and these flosser things my dentist recommended because Friday's appointment yielded more dismal results in the history of Brandy's crap teeth. My regiment has been expanded even further. I might need to set up a checklist. Grumble.
Post Target, we went to the Arboretum and then spent a stupid amount of time preventing meltdowns when we left. We went to McDonald's for lunch, swimming at the Y after Benjamin watched Frozen and Claire had a nap. Then we went to Red Robin for dinner, lit candles, sang Happy Birthday and ate yellow golden cupcakes in honor of Andrew's Golden Birthday. Benjamin ate Andrew's cupcake along with his own and then threw a mini fit because he couldn't have another.
His birthday wasn't glamorous. I wish it were, but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to celebrate my boy who isn't here to participate without making it seem forced and uncomfortable. We were together for a family day (for the most part) and we spent lots of time talking about Andrew with the kids. It wasn't much different than a normal Saturday, but there were tears and lots of beautiful messages and well, I'm happy it's over. He's five in heaven. I feel unfulfilled, but that's sort of how it goes in the land of babyloss.
We sure love him, and you, for caring so much. xoxoxo