Birthday pain.

We had Cam's birthday party today.  We invited my siblings, their spouses and kids, my mother, Rob's father, and our four really good friends and their kids.  So a small party of 18 (including wee ones), with just an ice cream cake and beverages.  I am not a huge fan of throwing parties and our house is really just a doll house, so this was perfect.  We waited until the last people arrived, waited about five minutes and then got the cake ready.

Important note:  If you have a Bruster's around you, make sure you get the vanilla and strawberry with yellow cake.  It is to die for.  I have been dreaming of this birthday cake since November when my best friend had one for her daughter's third birthday.  So good.  Nom nom nom. And I ordered one for 25 people so I would have plenty left-over.  I now have half a delicious ice cream cake waiting for me in our freezer.  It brings me the kind of joy that having a full liquor cabinet used to bring me:  immeasurable.

While everyone is making small talk, I go get the cake, plop the "1" candle down on it, place the cake in front of Cam, light the candle, start singing....and that's right about the time Cam grabs the candle.  In all my life, I have never seen a baby grab the candle, which might explain my slow reflexes in grabbing her hand.  At that point, it's the open-mouthed silent scream, followed by the saddest wail I have ever heard.  Tears are literally shooting out of her eyes landing on me and the tray, and she's trapped in her seat, with everyone still singing...and laughing.  Because that's what adults do in our family, we laugh at your pain.  I cannot wait to see the video.  I try shoving Cam's offended fingers into the cold ice cream, but she is now flailing her arms and looking at me like "What the FUCK, mother!?!" while screaming louder.

I lick enough of the purple icing and ice cream off, to see no red mark, no blister, nothing, but still she cries.  I wrangle her out of the seat, and do what any good mother would:  I found a cookie and gave it to her, effectively teaching her that emotional AND physical pain is overcome with delicious baked goods.  When she develops an eating disorder, I can come back to this post and see where it all began.  Cam calmed down immediately.  I mean, who wouldn't, it was a Raspberry Milano by Pepperidge Farm?  Back in her seat, cookie in hand, tears assuaged.  My poor sister-in-law tried in vain to get the obligatory baby-devours-and-becomes-sticky-mess picture, but Cam wouldn't touch the trauma-inducing cake.  She nibbled the cookie to death, then begrudgingly touched the melted puddle, and realized it was tasty.  You could see the surprise on her face, eyebrows shot up, and she smacked her lips.

My fervent hope is that my kid doesn't now associate birthday cakes as sugary masses of pain, because that would just SUCK.  For me, her birthday cake -loving-mother.  Happy Birthday Campbell, next year I promise I won't try to burn you.  :)