Christian’s birthday is Saturday and his mind is consumed with it. Obsessed. Gripped. Preoccupied. Infatuated. Fixated. Posessed.
I don’t know where he got this from.
Oh yeah. Me.
I have always been a little hyper-focused on my birthday, and I have successfully transferred this terribly annoying trait to my son. Why didn’t any of you tell me how annoying this is?
Oh wait. You did.
Christian asked me to prepare a list of things for him to think about instead of his birthday. Then he asked if he could have a babysitter, because having a babysitter keeps his mind off of it. Then he suggested that maybe when he gets home every day, he should lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in an effort to make the time pass. (Hey, it worked for Brian Wilson.)
Last night, as I was tucking him into bed, we were surprisingly talking about his birthday and how he thinks it would be a good idea if he opened just one present from us at his birthday party on Friday, and then leave the rest for first thing Saturday morning. At 4:00 a.m..
I think he began sensing my desire to smother myself with the pillow to escape more birthday planning, so he shifted gears a bit to help me understand that all of this is part of a much bigger picture:
“Do you know why we give presents on birthdays?” he asked me.
“You know how when Jesus was born, they brought gifts to him?”
“Well, that’s why we give presents on our birthdays.”
“Because we’re supposed to be like him.”