When the girls turned one, it was a big day. Their birthday fell on a Sunday and we had them dedicated at church that morning complete with family from out of town, a big lunch at our house afterwards, lots of presents and most of all, each girl got her own cake: one was chocolate and the other was vanilla.

Our baby turned one last Friday. His cake was put in the grocery bag upside down. You can imagine the damage. I was sad for a moment, but then later my sister fixed it and I didn’t feel quite as guilty. Not that it was exactly my fault that his cake had a hole in it, and not that it was even that big of a deal in and of itself. It simply represented sort of how this birthday was for him. We are out of town, away from home and our normal routine.

He has presents, but they remain unopened as of today. He did have a piece of cake, and got all messy, but he was so tired that he went to bed early that night. I know, he’s only one. He won’t remember. True. Still, I rue the day he sees the pictures from his sisters’ first birthday. Oh well. Happy Birthday, baby.