Happy Birthday, Cadie May

My daughter turned one on the weekend. I like not having to say a month tally when saying her age now, but I have a touch of wist about not really having a baby anymore. I also have a touch of amusement about what the Chinese bakery put on her birthday cake.

You’ll remember that I’ve established a birthday cake tradition with Rufus: pick a cake from the Women’s Weekly Party Cake book, then replicate it perfectly for him. Or, end up with a cake with as little resemblance in structure, design and taste to the Weekly version as possible. Either/or (so far, always “or”).

I was a bit sad about not making Zadie her first birthday cake. It couldn’t be helped though – the kitchen where we’re staying isn’t equipped with cake pans, I have no idea where the Weekly cookbook is, there’s a complete lack of licorice and jubes at the local Park ‘n’ Shop…and mainly I’m too fucking tired in any case.

On Zadie’s birthday, we met up with dad and Penny at Hoi Pong Square and ordered a cake from the bakery there. This is how it came out:

I wasn’t crestfallen at all though. No, I celebrated because, with their frankly inexplicable English guesswork, the good staff of the bakery have established Cadie’s birthday cake tradition for me. Each year she shall have a cake with the wrong name on it and maybe even the wrong celebration. Like “Have a wonderful Pesach, Roger” etc. There’s so much scope! I’m happy with it as a plan because it’s on a par in bad mothering terms with the cakes I attempt to make for Rufus each year.

Zadie opened her cards and present, and Ru kicked his Bulldogs footy around the square and into Saturday morning shoppers with trolleys.

Just like we did for her brother on his first birthday, we gave her the gift of life. (What?!) She looks duly impressed.

She’ll walk soon. She never stops talking or smiling. She never sleeps.

She loves sausage rolls, they make her say YUMYUM.


Happy birthday to our little Pippin. Your suddenly grey-headed mama and dadda love your hairy little head (and the rest of you, except your stink end) very very much xx


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