It seems very silly at this point, but one internet meme I've seen pretty much sums it up. It shows a young lady getting a tiara placed on her head with the words, 'Me on the first day of my birth month.' And that about sums it up, until the day after my birthday when the "party" is over.
In a perfect world I would do a bunch of celebratory things to commemorate my birth - polo matches, yacht races, wine tastings. Yes, the princess would like another please. But as an adult and parent, it is even harder to have the perfect day when you have that pesky responsibility of taking care of other people and the world does not, even for one day, revolve around you. Many a year my sister and I have consoled each other after a not so perfect birthday, knowing if we were still kids, the day would have rocked.
I blame my parents for this. Birthdays were very special in our house growing up. There was always breakfast in bed, a party and a big deal made over another trip around the sun. But the celebrations for me started right out of the gate, the very first day I began my earthly journey, which I don't remember very clearly, or at all for that matter, but I hear some rules were broken. My dad bought the biggest stuffed animals he could find from Bloom's Cut Rate in McKeesport and brought them to the hospital. As my mom's room was filling up with these large creatures, a nurse angrily commented to my mom, "You tell your husband this is not a zoo."
My mom, still dazed and confused, as she was completely sedated for my arrival, probably thought the animals were family and friends and probably had been chatting them up thinking she was at a party. (Just kidding mom, I know you gave that nurse what for - telling her, "Its his baby and he can do what he wants to.")
From my understanding, each of my siblings also got a large stuffed animal but none of them was as big or had the longevity of mine. My bear was so big, I could sit on its lap. I could put his arms around me. And I could cry on him when I was feeling sad. I don't think I ever gave him a name, I probably just called him 'Bear', but he seemed to always be there in times of trouble. (Paul had Mother Mary and I had Bear.)
As I got older, 'Bear' did too. The little white, probably toxic, asbestos pellets (circa 1970's) that gave him his girth, started finding escape routes, through small holes in his mouth, through his arms and through his feet. As a young teen, I would have to vacuum the carpet in my room (yes, he was still in my room at that point) to collect the pellets.
I am not exactly sure when 'Bear' made his final exit, but I am sure there was quite the clean up.
As you can see, from the beginning, birthdays were very special occasions. But as I got older, the birthday excitement translated to my children while my own birthday lacked the pomp and circumstance a build up that begins the first day of August would dictate. (Although over the years, I have received plenty of homemade cards with large colorful numbers featured prominently on the front or on the inside so I would not forget the number of years gone by.)
Last year I tried something different. I had each of my kids pick out something special they wanted to do with me, just one on one. This meant they were forced to put some thought into what they wanted to do, and it proved to be a day I will treasure. My youngest and I went to the trampoline park and played video games, my oldest treated me to lunch at Panera and my daughter and I got a pedicure. By the time the day was winding down, there was barely enough time to squeeze in dinner with the hubby and have my parents join us for cake.
Not sure what the plan is to commemorate my 44th loop around the sun. But I have about two weeks to walk around wearing my imaginary tiara, with visions of a decadent chocolate cake dancing in my head.
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| The Stewart twins helped break in 'Bear' at my baptism party. As you can see, Bear was huge. |
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