The Tiny Dark Lord turned one on Saturday, and we celebrated with much fanfare. Or, you know, as much fanfare as a one-year-old is up for, which isn't a lot.
My cake turned out fine, except don't even ask me about the frosting I tried to make which looked like a bowl of fresh baby vomit and resulted in me running to the store at 10:30pm to grab a can of Western Family vanilla frosting so that (when combined with the boxed cake mix) I could just give the kid a year's worth of preservatives and artificial crap all in one go. Woot!
|Suck it, Martha!|
The birthday singing weirded him out a bit and he wasn't sure quite what was going on. Then I dumped this thing on his tray that is much bigger than the stuff I usually give him, so it took a second for him to decide how to approach it. As you can see below, he figured it out.
Chocolate cake, baby. I pretty much blew your world with that one. Now get a load of ice cream.
I love this little guy so much. Even though he chose to reject all of my genes in favor of his father's (Eyebrow and love of fine cheese notwithstanding) I just can't get enough of him. I keep thinking of him as the same little baby elephant I brought home from the hospital, but he's changing and learning and growing so fast that I'm always surprised by it.
Happy Birthday, Tiny Dark Lord.