It's final. We're not having a fancy party to celebrate Issen's first birthday.

Just until recently, I was still hoping that despite all the signs that tell me otherwise, we could still throw a nice party with all the works for Issen's big day.

I know when to throw in the towel, though. Aside from the fact that our resources have been depleted because of the complications in my second pregnancy (hospital bills, lab fees, expensive meds, leave without pay, fancy food cravings, etc.), I'm afraid my body won't be up to the task of hosting a party. I've been on bed rest for more than a month but nothing much changed in my condition.

Special thanks to my N@wie sisters. Their words of encouragement gave me the assurance that I am not a bad mother just because I'm not giving him a first birthday party. Because I definitely felt that way, guilty and sad.

I didn't really think it was such a big deal, but when it finally dawned on me that the party I've been planning for since we found out we're pregnant won't materialize until after a couple more years, I was brokenhearted . Depressed, really, considering how my hormones now are fond of exaggerating every little thing I feel.

I cried in disappointment for several nights. I lost sleep over it, trying to find ways to somehow make my dream party for my son come true this year. I hated myself for being not strong enough (physically) to find ways and make it happen.

Finally, I remembered a lesson learned in past hardships. I remembered that I used to be someone who believed in and shared this words of wisdom: When worse comes to worst, there are things more important than fancy parties and social status.

I gave myself a good smack on the head because I didn't remember that sooner. Heck, I came up with that statement. I lived that statement. I AM that statement. How could I forget it, especially during this time when it matters most?

I still feel a bit awful, but I guess it's just wise to prioritize my and Baby Frost #2's health over a party, which, in the first place, the celebrant doesn't really understand at all.

I've also found consolation in the knowledge that babies celebrating their first birthday doesn't really appreciate yet the fun of the party. As Babyweekly puts it my personalized weekly newsletter:

"Children this age are often frightened by a lot of strangers or being in an unfamiliar place with a lot of activity around them. Smaller is generally better for a baby's first birthday. Be prepared for Constantine Keith or guest babies to be over-stimulated, experience stranger or separation anxiety, and have a meltdown."

And of course, I wouldn't even be strong enough to finally accept this whole thing if not for Mr. Frost. I did not pressure him to do something about the party, but I know he did the best he could. He never got tired of telling me, without any hint of annoyance in his voice, that not having a fancy party for Issen's first birthday doesn't make me less of a mother.

Best thing is, his patience and understanding didn't falter when I was my hormones were giving him hell. And that was a lot. Since I didn't have the guts to tell him the real reason behind my depression and crankiness, he hd no idea what he was dealing with. He reads my blog, though, so I guess now he knows . I wish Issen grows up to be as tough and open-minded as his dad.

I may be magnifying the intensity of this dilemma. It may not be dilemma at all for some. Heck, I'm not even sure if this long post made any sense at all to any of you. No surprise there, because as I mentioned earlier, my hormones always find a way to heighten whatever emotion I feel AND mess with my ability to string coherent words together.

Now, I'm saving all the things I planned for the party and make sure I don't forget a single detail when we can finally make it happen. I still call dibs on the intellectual property rights of the Baby Marvel theme idea.