Frankie, remember that pinata I promised you for your birthday?

Now for What the FUCK?! Weekend Blog #3: Crappy Barfday.

Michael turned 1 year old on Sunday. Yes, we celebrated the day he was surgically removed from his cushy uterine home November 2nd. I have been so excited for this to come! Planning parties and buying presents, the whole lot! I've even been stingy up to this point so that I could splurge and get awesome toys for both his b-day and Christmas.

So 5:00 a.m. rolls around and Big Mike's screaming his birthday face off because he's hungry. He didn't finish eating before bed, so now he's starving. He had been temporarily moved to our bedroom while guests were staying in the nursery and office. So we opted for Pedialyte because he had still been having the runs first thing in the morning and we're trying to beat that into submission with a fruit flavored electrolyte magic drink. Unfortunately, he sucked it down so fast he puked all over the pack n play. Great.

Routine clean up, redress, lay back down. The magic Pedialyte had obviously not worked because five minutes later we're changing his poopy jammies. Off to a solid start, right? And yeah, he was tired and cranky all day up until the party.

I opted for a puppy party, because the little man is obsessed with dogs. He chases Vega and Miles into hiding just trying to get kisses from them. His first steps were actually to give our Beagle's ass a hug. The kids had a great time; I think it went really well.

So well, that we decided to pile in the car and go see a friend in New Orleans. She was one of Dom's friends from high school and was in town for the weekend. Sounded like an opportunity to see the town and get some local food. It would have if we had gotten there before 8 p.m.

We left my driveway at 5:00. We were stuck in traffic, 4 miles away from our exit to the hotel we were going to, for over an hour. They closed part of the highway--the part we needed! So we had our GPS take us through the ghetto detour, which took another 45 minutes. Meanwhile, Michael's getting increasingly cranky.

Now we've got to find a parking place that won't break the bank. As we're getting pulled into the lot 1/2 mile away from our destination, my son barfs all over his carseat and my jeans' leg. We just paid 10 bucks for parking and spent hours in the car to get here, we're gonna go see Dom's friend!

You know, I always thought that if my first experience walking down Bourbon Street involved me being covered in vomit that it wouldn't be my 1 year-old's. And there we were, shuffling through crowds with a stroller. At least the smell of cigarettes and urine made me my yakky pants fit right in.

Fast forward past the 10 minute visit we had with Candace and her boyfriend, walking back through drunken crowds terrified, and get us strapped back into the carseat (mopped up with papertowels and wipes). We turn the corner just out of the lot and he spews party food once again.

Again and again...

And again and again when we get home and wipe him off in the bathtub. He fell asleep in my lap doubled over and naked. I had to wake him up to get his diaper back on. Best birthday ever! What's even worse? I infected all of the party guests. All of the parents now have puking kids and husbands and Dom's family even got some of this mess as soon as they got home.

As Geraldine said, we gave "the gift that keeps on regurgitating." I might leave that out of the baby book.