Tuesday, October 02, 2012

The birthday comes up...

The brat will turn nine on October 21. Excuse me while I pick myself off the floor and mop my tears. Nine years! Where did my adorable little baby go, and who put this rapscallion changeling in his place, I ask. The other day, I realised the boy has truly grown up. It all began with him asking what we would give him for his birthday. After having discussed a slew of gifts which would warrant him passing into adulthood, should they be spaced out to one a year. After some serious negotiations which convinced me that this child would one day grow to be an ace corporate mergers and acquisitions deal maker type, we settled the figure at around five gifts conditional on behavior.
Then, as is the regular drill, came the subject of the party. The dreaded birthday party. Given that for the past eight years the brat has celebrated every birthday in grand scale, with a birthday party involving at least 30 to 40 kids and accompanying adults, I was gritting them dentures and putting the lead in my soul for yet another shindig of the same. When he gobsmacked me completely. He laid down his terms and conditions very clearly. He wanted a birthday party at home, he said. He named around five friends from the building complex we lived in whom he wanted to invite, and refused to entertain more names, despite me begging him to reconsider given social obligations and such like. Dictated the menu would be cake, wafers, KFC and burgers with Pepsi and icecream. And the return gift would be something relevant to WWE.
The child has grown up. He decides what he wants. And as a parent, it is my role to encourage him to learn to think for himself and make his own decisions, regardless of my own thoughts. Of course, conditional to these decisions not being harmful or illconsidered in any way. It also means that I can now hang up my Momzilla Birthday Party Organiser hat and put my feet up. I am so not complaining.

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