I know Nancy won't remember anything about her first birthday, other than what we tell her, and the hundreds of pictures that we took. But then, I'm not even sure if the first birthday is for your baby. Or if it's a day to celebrate that you've done it. You've got through a whole year.
The entire day was overwhelmingly emotional. I hadn't really expected that whenever anyone asked how I was doing, or what we'd have be up to this time last year, I'd start having a shoulder shaking, ugly faced cry.
I think it's because you don't ever think about what it is to give birth after its happened.
You share your birth stories with other new mums in the months shortly after your baby's born. And maybe have a quick reminisce when you have a look at early day pictures.
But the day your baby is born is probably the only day in your whole life where you know exactly what you're doing virtually minute by minute.
And you don't have the headspace to think about it at all after it's happened.
We went to the park round the corner for Nancy's party, and strung up some bunting between trees in the playground. Ten of her friends, who are coincidently children of our friends, came to hang out with her.
Turns out Nancy has got a lot more adventurous since the last time we went for a play there. I thought she was still at the 'push gently on the swings' stage, but as I took my eyes off her to unpack the muesli mum style picnic of cucumber sticks, hummus, oat cakes and sultanas, Nancy sped off towards the climbing frame and clambered up the wooden steps and fearlessly disappeared into a tunnel.
She must have been doing loads of stuff with the childminder while I have been inadvertently stunting her development by mollycoddling her.
I thought it would be a cracking idea to bake her a sugar free cake.
Now, I'm no Jamie Oliver, but I've come to the thinking that banana isn't a good substitute for good old fashioned sugar. Or butter for that matter. Mind, I think that was a bit of an oversight on my part.
I thought I might have ballsed it up when the recipe said to pour the mixture out of the bowl, and I had to scoop it out with my hands and pat it into the tin like putty.
So the morning of Nancy's birthday, I went back to the supermarket to rebuy all the ingredients, and made another mediocre cake. It was the kind of thing one of mum's friends who owned a health food shop used to offer us when I was little, when we went round to their house that smelt of lentils and farts.
Thankfully, Ulrika had made the most beautiful chocolate cake with Nancy's name written in baubles. And the children and parents let out a collective sigh of relief.
Then three days later it was my birthday, and Nancy was with the childminder.
So, Ben and I tried to cram everything non-child friendly into eight hours.
I wore totally inappropriate clothes for a midweek daytime. A dress that wouldn't be out of place at a wedding, and high heels that shouldn't really be worn outside the bedroom if you were that way inclined.
I looked more like I was doing the walk of shame, instead of celebrating my 34th birthday.
We went to the pictures at 11am to watch a thoroughly depressing film about prostitution and failing schools.
Had a paddle in the sea.
And most importantly, went to the pub in the day.
Seems our days of daytime drinking are on hold for the time being. After pint one there was talk of going for a snooze. Pint two and it felt like the hangover was creeping up. And then we had to go pick Nancy up from the childminder.
I know we pay for Nancy to be looked after, but there was still that bunked off school and don't want to get dun feeling as we chewed on gum on the bus so we didn't stink of beer when we knocked on the door.
All in all it felt like a valiant attempt at a grown up birthday with children. Good job I wasn't thinking of having an all singing one this year, as Nancy's taken to sucking my mobile. The dribble/electrical appliances combo hasn't worked out brilliantly, and all the numbers have deleted, the ringtone has defaulted to some old school dance music that wouldn't be out of place at a 1998 free party, and to end a call with someone you need to take the battery out the back.
So even if I had decided to go mental, find a babysitter for the first time, and stay out past 10.30pm, it wouldn't matter anyway, as I don't have anyone's numbers now to invite them out.
On the plus side, two birthdays in one week does have its advantages. We only have to cellotape the happy birthday banner to the wall once.