Birthday angst
I haven’t been posting because I am wrapped up in:
1. Figuring out if any of the (few) kids invited to the dotter’s first birthday party will show up. (One has called to say they’re coming.)
2. Worrying that the dotter will be in A Mood, won’t share, will be grabby and me-me-me, and the other kids won’t have fun and the other mothers will think I’m raising her to be a barbarian.
3. Worrying about the horsie cake.
4. Worrying about having STRANGERS!!! In the HOUSE!!! People who probably have clean houses. People who will walk in the door and immediately notice all the spots on the (oh-what-a-bad-idea) cream-colored carpet and the dawg and cat hair all over the place and the greasespots on the kitchen cabinets and and and…and chalk me up as one of those women–the lousy housekeepers. And, by extension, lousy wives, mothers, and members of society.
5. Worrying that the Dawg will go insane with all those kids, bite someone, and it will be a horrible scene.
Ahem.
This party is keying into every single one of my angsts about hosting things, the state of the house (I don’t want to talk about it), my social skills, my husband’s social skills, my dotter’s social skills.
I don’t host things. We host family and long long term friends. We’ve never had a party. Never.
Picture me quaking in my boots.
I promise I’ll post about Molly Ivins; Momtinis, the Today Show, and the Mommy Wars; the wedding hair wigout video; and other important (and not-so-important) things after this entire ordeal is over with.
::whimper::
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