It’s My Birthday and I’ll Like It If I Want To

By Leigh Thomas

 

I just had a birthday. But contrary to what seems to be SOP these days, I don’t dread my birthday or wince at the fact that I’m a year older. Ok, so maybe that last part is stretching it a bit.

But really, I secretly LOVE my birthday. I try to make it an all-weekend-long celebration. That is my chance to have dinner without getting on my hands and knees to clean food off the floor. I eat cake for days with no guilt (well, maybe a little). It’s an excuse to go shopping. People are nice because no one wants to make me sad or piss me off on my birthday, decent people anyway. And B usually does extra chores. Come on, people, what’s not to like?

What’s funny, though, is the wonderment of my kids as they wrap their heads around the notion that grown-ups, too, have birthdays. Once they catch wind that I have one coming up, their first question is “How old are you going to be?!?” Mine is “How many more years can I hang on to my metabolism??”

This is usually followed by “What kind of party are you going to have?” as if I’ve been eyeing the Dora the Explorer and Disney Princess selections in the Publix cake book.

 

No Dora. Just flowers for the ripe old age of 35.

 

They giggle and look at me in awe as they try to wrap their little minds around a number that is officially on the down slope to 40, and I find myself wondering JUST how old I must seem to these wee ones. They think I’m young and fun … don’t they?

 

Nope. My son confirmed this for me, and it went something like this:

“Mom, did you watch Henry Hugglemonster when you were a kid?”

Me: “No, I don’t think we had Henry Hugglemonster back then.”

(Snorts) “Yeah, mom, when you were a kid I bet Jesus was still alive.”

 

Wow. I know our memories are supposed to wane as we age, but I’m pretty sure I would remember that.

I asked B if he thinks our babysitters look at us and see the same old people for whom I babysat as a teenager. His response: “Yes.” I am shocked. Helloooo, I still get carded buying wine at the grocery store (Hell yes, you can see my ID, Ms. Publix Cashier).

I think I sometimes forget that I’m not still 25. I look in the mirror and see the same kid staring back at me, and hear her same voice in my head. (Have I really learned nothing since then?) Well, pictures confirm that the mirror lies, and that head is confused by the 897 questions that are stuffed into it each day.

Well, so what if I have more lines in my forehead than a sheet of notebook paper and wake up looking like I spent the night in purgatory. I will soak up all this attention from my kids, enjoy my birthday dinner, eat my cake and, dammit, I will shop somewhere other than Publix. But if I ever need a pick me up, I’ll just head back with my ID handy.

 

Leigh Thomas — Columbia-area wife, mom and communications professional. Also a runner and lover of red wine, M&Ms and South Carolina Gamecocks. Visit her blog at literalleigh.blogspot.com. 

 

 

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