The Emotional Ambush of Big Kid Energy
Exactly when I lost it on my kid's 5th birthday, PLUS: That time I out-Pinterested Pinterest, if I do say so myself.
A few weeks ago, I celebrated my fifth motherhood anniversary. Unfortunately, my momentous milestone was overshadowed by a newly-minted 5-year-old and his boundless enthusiasm for aging—youths, amiright?!
If you know me ~personally~ then you know that I tend to get emotional on my children’s birthdays. I tried keep my shit together for a change this year, HOWEVER: after several late nights of party prep, present wrapping, and cake decorating (and yes I did transform yesteryear’s Halloween candy into veritable vehicles for teeny tiny Teddy Grahams…more on that below!), I accidentally slipped into in full bawl mode in the midst of my son’s preschool celebration: Shay’s classmates were taking turns sharing what they liked most about him, a cute school birthday custom that earns a point for his public preschool. After the fourth kid in a row furrowed their brow to realllly think before declaring earnestly, but verbatim, “I like it when Shay plays with me,” I thought I’d burst into laughter.
Instead, my floodgates opened and I laugh-cried so uncontrollably that my son’s teacher started crying, too.
Once I got started, I knew there was no stopping me. I tried to lock weepy eyes with David to do something—anything!—to save our son’s celebration, but he just laughed and shook his head, conveying without a word that he should have seen this coming and fled while he could when I sobbed through our wedding vows. (Fair, tbh!)
By the time I regained my composure, it was snack time. Methodically, my son went to his cubby, extracted a package of seaweed snacks from his backpack, and returned to his assigned table by way of his classroom’s craft area. On his way, he took out a pair of scissors, sliced open his package, and returned the scissors to their place. If you could be a fly on the wall at my house during any snack or meal I’ve ever served—EVER!—you would understand why I was so blown away by this mundane but bewildering turn of events.
There was my child, holding a sharp object, operating independently, solving a problem without asking for help, and—even more miraculously—cleaning up after himself. When, pray tell, did he become such a big boy? And why didn’t anyone tell me?!
The next day was Shay’s real birthday and his birthday party. We filled a ball pit with balls, balloons, and our entire Hot Wheels collection; set up a bunch of race tracks; filled a monster truck piñata with trinkets and treats; and set out a keychain beading station. I even made my mom pose as a temporary tattoo artist, a role she took quite seriously for two straight hours, bless her!
It was a dream party for any five-year-old—and especially for ours. But something was… off with Shay. Although we urged him (again and again, admittedly to the point of nagging) to welcome his friends, thank them for coming, and make sure everyone felt included, he was standoffish. He ignored greetings. He fixated on toys. He demanded a raisin bagel (the one kind we didn’t have) and different art supplies than the ones we’d set out.
By the time the end of the party drew near, he was impatient for even his best friends to leave him alone with his presents.
I’m pretty sure David and I were the only ones who noticed his weird mood; he’s ours, after all. At first, we wrote off his odd behavior. Birthdays can be a lot of pressure regardless of your age.
In truth though, we’d been seeing snippets of this emerging alter ego around his classmates on the playground: Leaving kids out, refusing to share, and a fresh kind of anger at home, a sort of explosive resistance that would result in retreat rather than seeking a parent for comfort. At the party, it was as if he was struggling to reckon with Shay, the preschool playmate and Shaybe Baby, mama’s boy.
After his guests peeled away and his presents were opened, I offered to spend the last hour of the afternoon teaching him how to ride a two-wheel bike. (It was a gift from Strider—big thank you!) At first, I waddled around behind his bike on our building’s communal patio. Wary of the TikTok sheet trick, I simply bent over with both of my hands under his armpits for support while he pedaled. But then, he began to pick up momentum and, I suppose, a taste of freedom…from me.
“Let go of me, Mom!” he squealed, his voice full of joy and a confident resolve that I hadn’t heard all day. The metaphor stretched out before me, clear as anything: Here was this big, capable kid, sick of me telling him how to act and what to do—because, in my absence, he already knew.
“Let go of me, Mom! Let go!”
It sure sounded like he meant it. When I let go, he stayed upright for two feet, maybe three before veering into a nearby planter. And while I braced for his yelp, all I heard was a laugh, loud and proud. He wanted more.
Why work late into the night making small cars out of chocolate if not to share them widely with the internet?! Pinterest, hear me roar!
I used mini Hershey’s bars for the bases, hoods, and trunks; melted chocolate for glue; sliced sour worms for lights; and halved gummy Lifesavers for seat backs. (Related: I have no life lol but also had so much fun with this?!)
When I asked for Shay’s thoughts on the cake, which was actually comprised of pull-apart cupcakes topped with like, four pounds of buttercream icing, he told me he would have preferred real Hot Wheels over edible cars. Kids! (I still hope he never changes.)
Let’s hear it for the moms in the back who smartly pay other people to customize their kids’ birthday cakes! Also, shout out to David who made the flags and nothing else, but dutifully ate leftover cupcakes for days like the champ he is.
Happy birthday to us! 🏁 🏆
Love this post!