Three years ago the day was hot, even hotter than today, reaching into the nineties for the umpteenth time that year. I waddled around to camp dropoff and pickup and even the playground, sweating and cursing as my contractions became stronger, and that night Declan became a part of our lives.
Being a winter baby myself, I was always jealous of the people whose birthdays never got snowed out and who could celebrate with picnics and pool parties. After having a late fall baby, I envied those with summer babies even more, not always having to worry about reserving a ridiculously expensive space in order to invite enough friends. When my second was born in August it seemed perfect. He could have the birthdays I always wanted. And having a baby in summer is definitely preferable in more Northern climates–not having to worry about coats and blankets and snow and rain in those early days was blissful. Yet, somehow, I overlooked the effect that the perpetual emptiness of Manhattan in August would have on a summer baby.
Declan’s first birthday was wonderful–a picnic party in the park like I had dreamed of, surrounded by friends. But once his peers grew older their families also fled the city, as we do ourselves, for much of the summer. This year I’m cobbling together family parties here and there with some playdates thrown in. We celebrated today with just y husband’s family.
While I may get a bit down about it, summer is a part of this boy. He is sunshine and light and it shows. He was perfectly happy to celebrate today with whoever was here. There were decorations and presents and cake and he was utterly content. Before he came along, our family was comprised of three first-borns, all cold-weather babies. Declan brought the summer to our lives and reminds us to smile when things aren’t perfect, to just go where life takes us sometimes, and to soak up the sun while we can. We needed a summer boy and we’re so lucky to have him.