Ivy's Birthday Party: The Day After

Penn friends, you’ll appreciate this:

Remember how you felt after Fling? Especially the first one, freshman year? Your mind had just been blown for 3 days straight, the insanity of the weekend almost incomprehensible. And you’re totally hungover to boot, unsure of exactly how much and what you drank (and ate for that matter) over the course of the event.

Replace hangover with sugar coma, and that’s pretty much how I felt after Ivy’s second birthday party.

And it was awesome.

There were cupcakes. There was Play Doh. There was a Dora piñata, full of candy and other goodies (the raisins didn’t move so much…why would they with M&Ms and Skittles in competition). There was music. There was an exploding singing candle. There was dirt. There was shrieking. One kid, who shall remain nameless (::cough:: the rabbi’s kid ::cough::) got naked and ran off with the balloon bouquet.

It was the party of my dreams. A backyard bash, more or less low-key, that was so much freakin’ fun. And Ivy was totally into it. She had a blast. She’s going to love Fling at Penn.

Now when I say it was low-key, I meant in terms of the overall grandeur of the event. I’m not so much into mega-parties with elaborate themes and organized activities at whatnot, especially for toddlers who don’t really know the difference. I like putting a personal touch on things I host. I love cooking and baking. It’s like my therapy. I have fun experimenting with new recipes and entertaining and making food look pretty. I loved making everything for Ivy’s party from scratch – the cupcakes, the dips, and even cutting up the fruit and vegetables myself (well okay, I can’t lie – my mom did that, but still). But don’t get me wrong – it was a ton of work.

Remind me again why at 5+ months pregnant I decided to take all of this on?

My body paid big time. By the time the last kid left the yard, the trash had been thrown out, and the leftovers had been stuffed in the fridge, I was ready to collapse. And not just “I need to put my feet up and lounge on the couch watching Food Network” (Cupcake Challenge was on last night). I mean, I needed a serious back readjustment, prenatal massage, and then fall asleep at 8pm alongside Ivy.

And of course, I was hungry. When I’m not pregnant, I’m pretty low-maintenance when it comes to meals and food. But this was not a moment where I felt low maintenance. Despite snacking my way through the party, enjoying dips and veggies and candy and whatnot, Dos and I were now ready for a meal. But I could not bear the thought of going within 15 feet of my kitchen, which is pretty much the distance between there and our bedroom. So cooking was out of the question…not that we had a ton of food besides leftovers, which I also was not interested in touching either. What I really wanted was taquitos. I had been craving them since Friday, when someone in the office was eating them. And I managed to locate a few places where I could acquire this craving of late, so I felt confident that I could indulge at the last minute.

But DAMN YOU Pizza Station (one of the many kosher combo wonders in LA – pizza and vegetarian Mexican food, not unlike Chick’N Chow, which is Chinese and fried chicken)! When you’re already closed 2 weekend nights of the week, how are you CLOSED at 8pm on Sunday?! When I found this out, I cried. I kid you not. I was hungry, exhausted, aching, emotional (my baby is 2!), pregnant, and this was the worst possible news at that moment.

It was one of those moments that was so frustrating because I couldn’t help but think “I’m not even supposed to be pregnant!” Take that out of the equation and I would have just been cranky. But I was miserable.

I crawled in bed and cried some more. My back was throbbing. And poor Mike was curled up in the fetal position, his stomach wreaking havoc on him. We were a mess. So I went out to find food for me and Gatorade for Mike…and I only got as far as CVS for the Gatorade. My back hurt too much and I was just out of energy and ambition to feed myself and Dos. I came home, managed to find a bowl of instant Thai soup from the pantry, and called it a day.

And I cried a little more because I still can’t believe little Ivy is 2. And because the party was so awesome.