Third Born….

I used to give my parents a hard time (okay I still do) about not having any pictures of me from the time I was a baby through University graduation.

The first known photograph of me (jury is still out if that Dorothy Hamill/bowl hair-cut is even mine) is on my third birthday. If you squint and hold the photo on just the right angle, with the right pair of glasses and the sun on a perfect seventy degree angle, you’ll see a small child fighting her way to three candles surrounded by siblings, friends and extended family. If you’re looking for a single happy baby picture of the only daughter my parents had, you won’t find one. It doesn’t exist.

I used to give my parents a hard time about this obvious neglect and even considered calling Kids Help Line to discuss but they really do stress their expertise is in helping kids, not adult children who still can’t find a picture of themselves playing happily with their original series Cabbage Patch Doll—Edwina Patrina.

My third daughter turned two yesterday and there was no celebration.

I don’t want to suggest it’s because we’re bad parents. Our computer files overflowing with pictures of young Chloe would suggest otherwise. We’re just not great at planning. We’re tired. We’re rundown. We’re overcome with excitement from this our third child’s second birthday. We’re…..lazy.

We took the kids to Great Wolf Lodge for the weekend and had an amazing time. The older girls ran from one waterslide line to the next and we pawned Chloe off on whatever willing stranger or relative we could find so we too could create lasting memories of a family on a waterslide roller coaster. We didn’t intentionally leave Chloe out of the fun we simply realized she would have no recollection of finding just the right angle to place her foot on the manmade floor springs to create a shot-gun effect of gushing water through her toes. This can really only impress an adult for so long, but the slides. The slides!

My Mom had asked me several times if there would be a party or cake for Chloe. My Mom still feeling thirty-six years of guilt for that empty photo album is determined to make it right with her Grandchild. Even she couldn’t believe we hadn’t planned a celebration.

Yes when Hanna turned one we had an open house, a carnival, fire breathing dragons, U2 live in the backyard. For Ellie, we cleared an ice rink on a pond, had a hot chocolate fountain and ice sculptures in her likeness. Chloe we watched stick her big toe in a hole and giggle as the water squirted in every direction.

Maybe it’s not that we’re bad parents but that we’ve learned something along the way.

Those other parties have been for us more than they’ve been for our children.

We knew after Hanna turned one and no one could find her under the Cartoonist’s stencils that day wasn’t really about her. I think it’s the day she took her first steps but we were too busy tossing swords to the juggler to see it.

Maybe things have become simpler and we’re all learning to just enjoy the moment, the water through our feet, the quiet celebration.

The photograph in our minds of our third child turning two.

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