My first and only nephew (so far), Iñigo, celebrated his first birthday with a party at Max’s Restaurant last weekend. It actually fell on Mother’s Day and they supposedly weren’t allowed to hold a party there (a lot of families dining out = lotsa moolah so a party’s bad for the business), but after one of the waiters said yes without consulting a manager, they had no choice but to stick to their word.

And so we had a great time last Sunday, watching all the kids (and parents) participate in the games, stuffing ourselves silly (I never knew the bangus from Max’s was so good), and giggling because of the party host who had a speech defect and a thing for accents (he shifted from American to British every 2 minutes or so).

Iñigo was his usual suplado self (he’s adorable that way) and while he gave us a pokerface during the whole celebration (and even sleeping during the cake-blowing part), we’re pretty sure he had a blast. Well, all the guests, at least, enjoyed eating coz the food was overflowing and was yummers.

A couple of days after his party, Iñigo dropped by and puked out his recent meal. Quite instinctively, I tried to catch the erm substance. His mother said I’m ready to have a child coz of my wonderful vomit-catching skills.

Uhm, I was actually just worried about the bed and the carpet. ;)