Last September, as our garden was filled with squealing seven-year-olds bouncing around in a bouncy castle, I stood with my lukewarm tea, trying to reassure myself this had been a good idea. My husband was refereeing a gladiator wrestling match, while the other parents hovered nervously, trying to figure out how many hospital runs a child's birthday party could realistically entail. "This," I thought, as I dodged a flying shoe, "is supposed to be fun, right?"

Children’s birthday parties have quietly morphed from charming afternoons of jelly, ice cream, and a few rounds of pass-the-parcel into events of spectacular complexity, expense, and anxiety. Yet each year, against all better judgement, we plunge into organising yet another sugar-fuelled extravaganza, driven by some inexplicable desire to outperform last year’s disaster. Why do we keep doing it?

I blame parental guilt. We're constantly reminded that childhood is fleeting, and so each birthday becomes another opportunity (or obligation) to prove we're adequately 'present' parents. The irony, of course, is that we achieve precisely the opposite. Instead of being truly present, we’re frantically distracted: endlessly tracking down entertainers, bulk-buying balloons on Amazon, and speed-reading WhatsApp threads to keep track of rogue RSVPs. I sometimes wonder if my son’s main memory of his seventh birthday will be me frantically hunting for party bag fillers and muttering obscenities under my breath.

And entertainment...gone are the days of a simple puppet show or perhaps a mildly inept clown. Instead, today’s party professionals range from magicians, face painters, balloon artists and acting professionals putting on mini productions...all costing a mini mortgage. On one memorable occasion, a booked entertainer casually cancelled at the last moment due to a better-paying TV gig, leaving me scrambling to find someone willing to dress up as a ninja turtle to herd screaming children for two hours in return for my month's disposable income.

Still, the alternative - no entertainment at all - is even worse. We've tried. One disastrous year, my optimistic plan of playing "musical statues" quickly descended into a mob of kids fighting over Spotify playlists...with Uptown Funk playing on repeat. That song is still tattooed on my frontal lobe. My husband heroically intervened, devising an elaborate kids’ quiz with quiz sheets printed and a projector from the office. It was, I suppose, technically impressive yet socially questionable. 

And then, of course, there are the politics of the invitation list. Crafting the perfect guest list requires diplomacy that would test seasoned politicians. Accidentally exclude someone’s child, and risk icy stares at the school gates. Invite too many, and risk your house turned into a tip. It’s no wonder many parents dread their child’s birthday - it's a mental minefield.

Buying gifts for the birthdays of children you barely know is a fresh kind of parental torment. Last year, my husband cheerfully volunteered to handle gift-procurement, returning proudly with a stack of promotional desk globes that were clearly corporate freebies. Efficient, he argued; mortifying, I replied. I still fear our reputation never quite recovered from “globe-gate.”

But perhaps the pinnacle of birthday-party absurdity is the dreaded party bag. Every parent knows these little sacks of brightly coloured plastic junk serve no useful purpose whatsoever. Yet, we all dutifully assemble them anyway, piling in tiny toys and sugary sweets destined to be forgotten or discarded within minutes. I’ve personally spent hours agonising over the contents - are organic raisins too dull, or chocolate bars too irresponsible? In the end, parents and children alike universally accept disappointment. It's a remarkable societal feat: we continue this costly, joyless ritual precisely because nobody dares to stop it first.

This year, as my son's eighth birthday creeps nearer, I nervously floated the idea of replacing a party with a simple trip to the cinema. "Popcorn, friends, a film - sounds great, right?" I asked hopefully. But already, visions of squabbles over seating arrangements, spilled drinks, and shushing hyper kids every 5 minutes haunt my sleep. I'm quietly realising that no matter how "simple" the plan, the same birthday anxieties lurk in new disguises, waiting to ambush me all over again.

Yet beneath all the madness - the financial excess, the social politics, the balloon-arch-induced meltdowns - lies a simple, bittersweet truth. Birthday parties aren’t just for our children. They’re also for us, a way of clutching onto childhood a little longer, marking each passing year as something special even as it speeds by. Perhaps we persist with this annual chaos because we secretly fear the moment our children no longer need us to orchestrate their joy.

So next year, yes, we may swap the bouncy castle for popcorn and cinema tickets. But whom am I fooling? Even then, I’ll likely be found at midnight frantically googling “movie-themed party bags,” still caught in this beautifully maddening cycle.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to start planning a birthday cake that comes with the longest list of demands. Wish me luck. Or better yet, send help. And wine.

And if you want to save yourself from one hassle, you can find the best children's birthday cakes right here at the click of a button and delivered straight to you in London and Surrey.