Today is my birthday, and I am 37 years old. We can take this moment to pause while you compose me a beautiful birthday text message or Facebook posting. I’ll wait.
Ok, so anyway, today is my birthday, and as I woke this morning I remembered right away that it was my special day. I considered for a moment making some coffee, and curling up with a hot cup to enjoy in the quiet of the early morning as I reflected on being a year older. Then my three year old entered the scene.
As we cuddled in my bed I told her my big secret. “You know what? Today is Mom’s birthday.”
She was very excited to hear this bit of news because birthdays and birthday parties are the things three year olds’ dreams are made of. “I think you should get a pink, Hello Kitty cake,” she suggested. And in that moment I realized a birthday at 37 is so much different than a birthday at three.
I didn’t get a pink, Hello Kitty cake today. Seriously. I didn’t. I had some ice cream melted on a fried tortilla at the Mexican restaurant where I ate lunch. I got serenaded in Spanish, which was pretty cool, but I didn’t blow out candles while thirty of my best, little buddies sang Happy Birthday in screaming, sing-song voices.
No toys. When my three year old daughter saw I got an antique quilt for my birthday she looked perplexed. “Is that all you’re getting Mom? What are you gonna play with?” She was so mystified by my boring present that she convinced her dad to buy me a bag of candy too. He chose Lindt white chocolate truffles, and for that I will always love him.
When you’re three you get tons of pretty, wrapped packages full of all the things you could hope and wish for. Everyone gets you a gift, and then you spend the rest of the day playing with it.
When you’re 37 you get flowers, or taken to lunch, or a reasonably priced gift that you have really been needing. Because that’s what you asked for. And as you put away your new dishes you may wonder what you can play with for the rest of the day. That’s usually when you take a picture of them so you can post it to social media, and share the love with all your friends. For me, that’s just as good as being three again.
No Chuck E Cheese, etc. When you’re three you have an awesome party at an even better venue. Somewhere loud, with games, and pizza is ultimate. All your friends will be there!
At 37 you receive sporadic visits from your family to your home, your home that’s a mess because you refuse to clean on your birthday. You try and push piles of folded laundry to the side so people have somewhere to sit. You’re really glad people thought of you and paid a visit. You are. It’s just different from the organized shindigs of your childhood.
You’re not the big Birthday girl. At least you hope not. Age takes on a completely different perception the older you get. At three everyone tells you “how old you are,” or “what a big girl you are” now that you’re a year older.
I swear I might pimp-slap someone if they told me that at 37. At 37 people may ask, “do you feel a year older?” You’ll answer, “nah, not really,” but as you drag in from a late lunch you’ll think, I feel years older. Then you’ll hope for a nap, which would have never happened on your third birthday.
Seriously. I took a nap today, and it was the best present ever.
Cards. I remember when I was three, and even the many childhood years that followed, I would anticipate the week of my birthday. Everyday the mailbox would contain a brightly colored envelope. Inside would be the most animated cards, and they usually contained money. Or I hoped they did. $5, yes! A twenty from grandma, I’m rich! It was wonderful.
This year I received zero cards in my mailbox. Bummer. It’s cool though. I got an amazing card from my spouse that made me bawl like a baby, and a few cards hand delivered from other family members. I also received hundreds of texts and Facebook messages. All that together made me feel so very special! It’s just different from the puppy card with dollars falling out of it that I got when I was three.
You’re special, but then not so much. When you’re three the whole day, your birthday, is all about you. From sun up until sun down it’s an all out celebration. You’re so special.
At 37, you’re birthday is important too, and people can really make you feel special. But then in a lot of ways it’s just like another day. Today I still fixed breakfast for little ones, and gave them all my attention, serving their every need. I semi-straightened the house after all, and I still did laundry, but I drew the line at balancing the checkbook. A birthday girl can only do so much, you know?
At the end of the day, as I sat contentedly with my three year old in my lap, she suddenly remembered. “Hey! You forgot to get a pink cake.” I wasn’t sure what her concern could be. After all, I’d given her over half of my sopapilla, and let her wear my birthday sombrero. I guess it’s just different when you’re three.
After a full day surrounded by those I love, I decided 37 is pretty good. It’s not three, but it’s good.