“I built those two boys in my belly and I see a part of myself in their bright, happy faces”
Today is my birthday. Just like any other day but with cake. Good cake actually and that’s what sets it apart from any other day with cake.
When I was a kid I spent 364 days of the year anxiously counting down to my next birthday (365 every leap year). The promise of awesome presents wrapped up in pretty paper and if I was lucky, a bow on top, was everything to a kid.
When I was a teenager I spent 364/5 days of the year counting down to my next birthday not only for the presents, but also because for one day of the year I was the most important person in my group of friends and everyone had to do what I wanted.
In my twenties I spent the rest of the year counting down to my next birthday just so I could see how many bunches of flowers would arrive from secret admirers and there was also the obligatory, awesome night out with my friends to celebrate. You know… the kind of night that starts with fluffy pink cocktails, a few “woohoo”s and ends with me vomiting into my handbag during the taxi ride home.
Pre-kids, in my thirties, I spent 364/5 days of the year counting down to an awesome shopping trip where I got to spend a crap-load of hard earned cash on boots, stilettos and designer clothes and then end with a night of fine dining and expensive wine.
Now, I spend 364/5 days of the year avoiding the countdown, trying not to think about my sliding mortality, looking forward to being able to justify the purchase of some new knickers and brand name make-up that won’t make my eyes water. It’s the only day of the year that I can command household chores be completed by the other residents of the house. The only day of the year that I can drag the family through IKEA and they all have to grin and bear it.
Is it normal to be disappointed that birthdays just aren’t as exciting as they used to be? Is it normal to reach an age where you actually want to start counting backwards at your next birthday?
This birthday started off with a sleep-in while my husband tidied, vacuumed and picked up 253 socks and 24 shoes off the living room floor. Then, when he was done, my bedroom door flew open and my two boys jumped on the bed full of excitement as their dad followed with my favourite lemon tart lit up by a modest display of candles and of course he was singing ‘happy birthday’. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, bleary eyes, puffy face, hair frizzy and messy. My face was framed in the mirror by greasy little boy hand-prints on the glass and I made a mental note to attack those with Windex later in the day.
Was I happy with this birthday? Was it good enough to want to spend the next 364 days counting down to the next one? You bet! I found that wonderful husband in a crowded bar after 31 years of searching the world with very high expectations. I built those two boys in my belly and I see a part of myself in their bright, happy faces. I choose to spend my birthday buying sensible underwear and mid-price cosmetics while I spend the other 364 days of the year buying the boots, stilettos and designer clothes on sale and hiding them in my wardrobe until enough time has passed for me to drag them out and say “Oh, this old thing? I’ve had it for ages”.
Happy birthday to me xx
Desperately Seeking Normal 