'The 3 reasons I'm saying no to the mental load of throwing kids parties at home.'

My toddler is in bed, and I’ve just sunk into the suddenly luxurious comfort of my couch, sipping herbal tea.

It’s still steaming, and I try to remember the last time I’d immersed myself in the simple pleasure of an hour of free time. 

It doesn’t take me long to decide that it was well before my first born.

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Then slowly, an uncomfortable thought begins to surface, bringing an unavoidable truth to the forefront of my mind: it’s my daughter’s birthday in less than eight weeks, and I still don’t have anything planned. 

I lean back into the couch again, which, just a second ago, had felt like crushed mohair against my skin but is now a sad bargain couch stained with pumpkin soup and sticky prints of licked lollipop.

I throw out a few dried cranberries I find wedged between the cushion and armrest, and just like that, I am back in mum mode.  

Forty minutes of frenzied Pinteresting is followed by an hour-long WhatsApp conversation with one of my best friends to decide on a party theme.

By the end of the night, the chat is overwhelmed with 117 screenshots and the decision making is adjourned indefinitely. My tea is cold, and rag in hand, I’ve started scrubbing away at my stain speckled furniture.

My daughter is only two, and this is how I spent almost every second night during the time leading up to all four (and we’ll get to that later) of her birthday parties. 

Although there’s something undeniably sentimental about celebrating your child’s lap around the sun with loved ones in your own home, I’ve come to realise that if you’re a detail-oriented person, way too many hours and way too much thought goes into planning the 'Instagrammable' effortless, scroll-stopping parties you want to recreate.

And that isn’t what birthdays should be about.

Image: Supplied.

So, with eight months to spare until her third birthday, here are three reasons why I'm saying no to the mental load of throwing kids' birthday parties at home.

My house is smaller than my guest list.

Turkish people are born with a natural inability to do anything on a small scale.

We cook for 10 when we’ve invited four, we have weddings with over 500 guests including people we’ve never seen but who claim to have rocked us to sleep once when we were babies, and we buy homes with extra rooms for our growing family and friends.

Where it becomes a problem is when people who have rocked your babies to sleep once also expect to be invited to their birthdays for the rest of time. 

I have a heart, but not a house big enough for that. 

So at the age of two, my daughter has had four birthday parties, each entertaining a different crowd of people. 

This has been a tactful way of keeping everyone else happy, but I don’t know much longer I can keep that up for. 

Having been raised in a loving community of friends and family makes me want to give my daughter the same life, and the only solution I can think of to this dilemma is hosting her parties elsewhere.

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I don’t have the time it takes to plan.

Here’s a possibly unpopular opinion: being low maintenance isn’t a bragging right. 

Twenty-eight months ago, the mild-tempered me may have disagreed, but there’s something about becoming a mother that awakens a boldness in you that you never knew existed. 

Perhaps it’s a survival instinct that kicks in when you realise your needs and luxuries are stripped back to what, for others, are mere essentials. 

If I could have a word with my prior self, I’d say: 'Being self-reliant is great, but being so to the extent that you spare everyone else their comfort at the cost of your own is where it starts to get concerning.'

A large part of being the children of migrant fathers and homemaker mothers is growing up with the idea that asking for help is a sign of weakness, and outsourcing a sign of laziness. 

Overcoming this conditioning hasn’t been easy, but burdening myself with the mental load of personally tending to every little detail of my daughter’s birthday has helped me come to terms with the fact that things need to change. 

Baking my own desserts and DIY-ing party decor takes me at least four consecutive days, besides weeks of researching, planning, and shopping. 

The night before her first birthday, I stayed up until 2.30am making flower crowns and wreaths, and tying glass milk bottles filled with water to the pergola for a pleasing display of fresh flowers. 

Image: Supplied. 

The following morning, I spent an hour stressing over decorating the cake I’d spent two days constructing.

The house was cleaned before and after the guests arrived. Whilst these were all worthwhile in creating the memories I now cherish, I don’t realistically see myself doing it a few times a year as our daughter and family grows. 

Things get a little, well, rampant.

When we were planning my daughter’s first birthday, I’d suggested keeping the kids entertained with a play corner stashed with colouring in books and pencils.

Everyone in the room had laughed at my naivety. My husband patted my shoulder sympathetically and said, 'That’s cute.' It didn’t take me long to realise how valid their reactions were. 

Only one out of her four parties was held outdoors, and needless to say, this was the easiest to host. 

No food spill was concerning, no wild rampages had to be contained, no one had to shout over the noise to hold a conversation, and I didn’t have to worry about keeping the kids happily occupied. 

So follow suit with me, outsource your kids' parties, and I’ll meet you on the side where the teas are always enjoyed hot. 

Feature Image: Supplied.