Friday is my birthday. It’s not a big birthday, not a milestone birthday, there is no “0” on the end of it.
I will be 42.
Doesn’t even hurt to say it. I haven’t have found a birthday painful since I turned thirty-five and had a piercing… well two actually. But that is another story and they are not there any more.
You see, adult birthday’s are not a big deal in our house. (We make a fuss over the kids of course.) Jay, who is very much like his father in this aspect of his personality, doesn’t bother with birthdays. He doesn’t care if he gets a card or a present and if he doesn’t care if he receives…. why should I care if he doesn’t give.
In the past if I wanted a special birthday dinner… I would make it myself. If I wanted a birthday present… I would buy it myself.
In the early years of our relationship, it did upset me a little that this one day wasn’t special. Even totally forgotten some years. (I would still make a fuss over his.) But when it comes to our marriage, this is not a deal breaker.
Once we got the girls a little more fuss has been made, for their sake more than mine. For my 40th they decorated a cake. On my 41st I got a new handbag – which I bought myself – but Jay and the girls wrapped it up for me. (Using the paper stuffing from inside the bag!)
This year we are all more excited that Bart will be having her first swimming lesson tomorrow than Mummy is getting older.
So, yeah. My birthday is not a big deal.
Earlier today I received a phone call from a friend. She knew it was my birthday tomorrow (I can only think it was through Facebook) and we have made arrangements to head to the pub for dinner tomorrow night.
I called Jay at work to let him know I am going out and also that AJ is going for a sleep over at Grandma’s tomorrow. He has snuck in the house this evening, hiding a carrier bag, grabbed some sticky tape and dissapeared in the living room with the girls. Hmmmm…
Happy birthday to me…