Regarding a birthday, for which I had a hard time finding words, and eventually found 958 of them

This was the first year that Kai understood what was coming when I told him it was almost his birthday. I don’t know that he understands what a birthday is, however.

“How old are you going to be?” He was asked this by everyone.

“One hundred!” he would happily chirp.

“No,” everyone would say, “how old will you be really?”

“Eighteen!”

What he definitely understands, though, is that birthdays mean cake, candles, decorations and presents.

To that end, he pretended to call Santa on the phone.

“Santa,” he would say, “I need a green robot.”

And if he’s confused by the mechanics of the whole thing, well who can blame him? That Santa guy brings presents, after all. And anyway, who cares because OMG Kai’s pretending to talk to Santa!

I asked him what kind of cake he wanted, and he answered me.

“A robot cake,” he said.

“I see,” I replied. “What flavor?”

“Chocolate,” he answered.

I called a local bakery that I know will do gluten-free/dairy-free. There was an additional charge to guarantee the cake to be peanut free, as well (Sanitized, they call it. Sounds delicious!). A GF/CF/PF chocolate robot cake can be yours for the low, low price of $190. And I don’t care, you guys. I’d pay twice that and eat nothing for Ramen for the whole of March, because OMG I asked him a question and he answered it.

He answered it.

:::

And so the big day dawned, presents were opened, green robots and a kite were received, and I had to cart the children off to school. Kai wanted to fly his kite like right now, and was somewhat concerned when we pulled up, not at a grassy park on a sunny spring day, but to his red brick school building in the middle of winter.

The kite was also the first thing he asked for when he came home.

“Need fly kite,” he said.

I tried to explain to him that a.) it was too cold for that and anyway b.) kite-flying falls squarely in the Scott category, because I have 99 talents and kite-flying ain’t one.

Kai gamely decided that we could play with his new green robots instead.

I cut them out of their packages, put them on the floor, pressed the buttons on the remote and—nothing. Both robots were stone dead. And since these robots required the fancy button batteries (why on Earth can’t they just take double As?), we had to wait for Scott to come home with batteries.

Kai then thought to console himself with a cupcake, which I told him was not going to happen until after dinner.

And that’s when he started to cry.

I texted the following picture to Scott:

WTF, Mom? What kind of birthday is this? No kite, no robots, no cake.
And where is Santa in all of this?

I asked Scott to please hurry.

:::

I’ve been thinking for weeks about how I’ll mark Kai’s fifth birthday for punchdrunk posterity, and as of this writing, I still haven’t figured out what I want to say. I stare at a blinking cursor and all my superlatives seem cliché.

Five years old seems like a big deal, like the last vestiges of baby fat should be melted from his cheeks, like any traces of the baby Kai should have all but disappeared.

And in fact, they have.

Sometimes, I look at this child, this boy, and he seems a stranger to me. When did this happen?

And I can even begin to see the young man he’s going to become, when I wake him up for school. He’s always dead asleep when I turn on the lights. He rolls over and shrugs the duvet over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to sleep,” he says.

I’ll sit on the bed next to him and shake him gently awake, bury my face in his neck. He’s sort of stinky in the morning, in the way he’ll probably be until he has a reason not to be and I can’t go in there at all because it smells like an Axe factory.

I bought him some robots for his birthday. Green ones, as requested. They’re fiddly, with spindly limbs and remote controls. The age on the package indicates that they’re for kids eight and older, but he can work them just fine. He sent the Hexbug, a spider-looking thing, creeping after his sister. He cornered her, laughing, sounding every bit like a school-aged boy.

I am both pleased and heartbroken. My big boy. My baby. He wipes off my kisses. He resists my hugs. He’s supposed to do that.

And yet.

Scott and I went to school with him on Monday for the birthday celebration, bearing gluten-free, dairy-free cupcakes with sugar-free icing that I’d made myself. Kai passed them out to his classmates and they sang happy birthday to him. He blew out his candle.

Before we left, I knelt to say good-bye. He threw his arms around me and hugged me. For one second, two, for ten, and he held on. I buried my face in his shoulder, this boy, this amazing and complicated creature who has taught me everything I know about life and about love in its purist form. He hugged me until the other kids buffeted us with their heavy winter coats as they lined up for recess, until they were ready to go outside.

And because it was time, and I had to, I let go.

:::

Scott eventually came home with the batteries for the robot. After dinner, candles were lit and the song was sung yet again.

Kai has officially been alive for five years. It’s been forever, it’s been the blink of an eye.

I never want to blink again.

 

Comments

[John]

I just enjoy reading your blog. Enjoy all your time with baby Kai. TIME it goes quick. Looking at my grand kids I miss the baby talk needing help with ever thing. I like the robot