I had to admit to myself this weekend that I have come to loathe birthday parties. That is quite an admission for someone who named her blog Girl in a Party Hat.

OK, maybe I found myself curled up in the fetal position on the couch late Saturday afternoon because I skipped lunch and it was over 100 degrees out (in mid-October, damn it!) and I had slept for just four hours the previous night.

But I swear it was because of that birthday party.

Sophie and I had looked forward to it for weeks — one more in a long parade of birthday parties already this year; apparently most of her class was born in September and October. This particular celebration was held at a kiddie beauty salon called Snip-Its, and promised a theme of Glamour. It delivered.

By the end of two hours, the girls had put on fancy dresses; had their hair done; put on makeup, which they were then allowed to keep in the makeup bag they picked out; finished a craft (a door hanger made of fun foam — “the princess is in”); donned feather boas for a red carpet fashion show; and eaten chocolate cupcakes with three inches of pink and purple frosting.

Heaven, right?

For me, it was hell. And for Sophie? Hard to say.

She seems to be more and more in touch with her social surroundings, which worries me. Just that morning in ballet, I had watched her approach a couple little girls she was in line with, waiting to do leaps. I couldn’t hear through the glass, but what I saw was obvious: They blew her off, turning their backs and giggling together.

I always tell myself Sophie doesn’t notice such slights (and she does invite them by acting odd, I’ll admit that — it’s never really the other kids’ fault, and sometimes I know they can’t understand what she’s saying) but this time I couldn’t deny it. Sophie turned around and walked to the corner, sinking to the ground and sulking.

A few minutes later she was up again, but by then I had to turn my own back. I couldn’t bear to watch. It was the same at the birthday party. I so want Sophie to be included, to be invited to these parties, but I’m beginning to wonder if we’d both be better off if I declined the invitations.

Maybe the truth is that she’ll never be included, not the way we both want her to be.

Now Annabelle, she’s another story. The other day she told my mom that the kids actually fight over who gets to sit next to her at lunch. She’s got that magic something that makes people like her.

I never had that as a child or teenager. Not til the last few months, when high school classmates started friending me on Facebook, asking if I was going to our 25th reunion. Um, no. As in, no fucking way. I am mature enough at this point to realize it was more my fault than anyone else’s, but let’s just say that I did not enjoy my years at Arcadia High School and no, I don’t wish to relive them.

I was happy and I’ll admit a little flattered to hear from some friendly classmates. I guess we’ve grown up. But still, I declined the invite to the reunion.

(And here I must interject and admit that perhaps I am being a bit melodramatic. I did have friends in high school, but I was an odd duck without a good reason like, say, a chromosomal abnormality. It’s not a time I like to think about — though having kids, particularly Sophie, somehow makes me think about it a lot.)

Standing in the doorway of the party room at Snip-Its, staring at the four little girls sitting around the table with (but not really with — no one spoke to her the entire time, except when she got in their way) Sophie, I suddenly saw each of those four girls in 10 years: cheerleader, cheerleader, cheerleader, bitchy student body president. And my kid, the one who doesn’t fit in.  

Sophie deserves a lot of credit. She tries. She kept calling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” across the table to the birthday girl, who I swear didn’t crack a smile the entire time — at Sophie, or anyone else for that matter. Driving home, I asked Sophie if she had fun with the other girls. Her response: “Where was Sarah?”

Sarah is Sophie’s BFF, she of the very successful playdate. I don’t know where Sarah was, but I’m guessing Sarah’s mom (who has several older children) is smart enough to not hit every birthday party.

“I’m sorry Sarah wasn’t there,” I told Sophie. “I know she’s your good friend.”

Funny, just the night before, my dear friend Kathy and I had a long talk about how that’s all you really need — one good friend.

“If you’ve got two, you’re way ahead of a lot of people,” Kathy said.

She’s right. And in the end, even if you walk down that red carpet alone, more power to you if you hold your head high and smile.