When you're a kid...so exciting!
When you're an adult.
At least at my house.
Which is fine with me.
I don't need to be reminded that I'm one year closer to "the home."
A year closer to glucosamine pills.
A year closer to bifocals.
A year closer to dementia.
Okay, so maybe a few of those things have already happened.
Who am I kidding, I'm no spring chicken.
I'm more like a middle aged hen.
Grumpy and molting on a regular basis.
Now, I've heard about adults who do have large birthday celebrations.
Even seen the photographic evidence on Facebook.
I don't think those people have kids.
Or if they do, the kids are grown ups themselves now.
When you have kids, there's no money left for you to use to celebrate 'cause you spent it all on the dang kids.
When I was due to turn 40, I had a plan.
I wanted to take a cruise with my two oldest friends who would also be turning 40 in the same month as myself.
Just think, cruising on the open ocean.
Fruity drink in hand as we lay around the pool.
We would get up whenever we felt like it.
Not at the time the minions were demanding their chocolate milk.
We would get massages by (hopefully) hunky men who resembled John Stamos.
It didn't happen.
I spent my 40th birthday in my house.
Eating Monicals pizza at my own dining room table.
My husband designed me a cake made entirely of Hostess Ding Dongs.
It was me, my husband, my two kids, and my parents.
My daughter's cancer diagnosis and subsequent chemotherapy regime made her too susceptible to germs.
She couldn't leave the house.
I couldn't go in a cruise if my child was fighting for her life.
I couldn't even go to a restaurant with her on that day.
I was another year older and she was fighting the biggest brawl she had ever faced.
So we celebrated low key.
She's all better now.
And I'm about to turn 43.
I am hoping to take that cruise next year.
The ocean, the sun, the all inclusive buffet, girlfriend chit chat, and the knowledge that my daughter is alive and well.
To celebrate another birthday herself.