Upside to pessimism -- imagining the worst can lead to pleasant surprises.
Sure, it sucked to wear REALLY tight shoes -- my normal dress shoes have vanished without a trace which I didn't realize until 5 minutes before we were leaving, forcing me to wear shoes from before the girls were born which is to say 2 shoe sizes ago -- and I would rather have been at the movies but being at Tom's cousin's wedding was not too bad.
My heart hurt when I watched her walk down the aisle with her father but, birthday or no, that moment in a wedding always makes me bleed on the inside.
Tom's sister and her boyfriend brought candles and his family surprised me with a lit piece of wedding cake and a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday." I'm pretty unsurpriseable (if that's not really a word, it should be) but they totally shocked me with that one.
The drinks were flowing. The music was good. It's ALWAYS great to be out on a date with my man, regardless of the surroundings. I have more fun with him in the paint aisle of Home Depot than I did on fancy dates at expensive restaurants with old boyfriends.
Actually, I'm pretty sure we've never been to Home Depot since we're not exactly what you'd call handy but you get my point. Our awesomeness together transcends our surroundings.
So it wasn't bad after all. I love when that happens.
On our way to the wedding, my Aunt Joan called to wish me a happy birthday. She shared a story that I'd never heard about the day I was born. Apparently, everyone firmly believed that I would be a boy. It was a foregone conclusion that I would be John Jr. She said that when my father burst into the room to tell everyone that I was a girl, he wasn't just surprised, he was absolutely gleeful at the shocking news that his life would have to include Barbies and tutus rather than baseball cards and playing catch. If you knew my father, you are having trouble fitting "gleeful" to the image of him but she painted such a vivid picture of his happiness that I could see it almost like I was there. And it made me so happy-sad, imagining his delight in newborn me and wishing I'd gotten a chance to present him with my own miracle babies.
For the rest of the day, I basked in the story of my birth. Doesn't take much to get me started down memory lane so off I went, fondly recalling other wonderful birthdays.
Like how my mother always had a big bowl of M&Ms on the table for us to eat all day on our birthdays. We were a candy-free house so this was a huge big deal. Like how my Mom mailed me a bag of M&Ms the first year I was away at college so the tradition could continue. She also FedEx'd a cake to me so I could blow out my candles on my "real" birthday rather than waiting until she visited on the weekend.
(I am a stickler for "real" birthdays. Growing up, my grandparents, aunts and uncles came over for cake and ice cream after dinner on our actual birthdays. We celebrate the kids' birthdays on the weekend with the extended family but only because Dorkaware is too far away from home for everyone to come over on their actual birthdays. Reason #4,802 that living in DE sucks.)
Like when I would take cupcakes to school on my birthday and the whole class would get to have a treat for my special day. This is why we celebrate my summer babies' half birthdays -- I never want Jack and Natalie to miss out on how great it feels to be at school on your birthday.
Like how my parents, grandparents and godmother used to trek up to college for my birthday. Neither rain nor sleet nor snow -- all found in copious amounts in the Lackawana Valley in February -- kept them from coming to see me, cake and gifts in hand. They arrived with a giant bottle of Asti on my 21st birthday and I was drunk before 11:00 a.m. My roommate threw me the first and only surprise party of my life that night and while I remember none of it due to my newly minted legal drinking status, I appreciated it. I appreciated her changing my vomit-y clothes and sheets even more. Nothing says, "Best Friend" more than someone making sure you don't wake up in a puddle of Absolut and cupcake.
Like my 30th birthday, the best birthday of all, which was the day I saw the tiny flicker of Jack's heartbeat on the grainy sonogram machine for the first time. That night at my favorite Mexican restaurant, my family toasted me with margaritas and I took my first deep breath in the 6 weeks following my pregnancy test, knowing that there really, truly was a baby in there -- A baby! My baby!!! -- and hoping that he would arrive safely.
Like how I've woken up to dozens of birthday greetings from friends across the country since Facebook entered my life.
Like my 36th birthday, the day I brought Bonnie home from the hospital. Yes, I know, I bitched about the pain and the blood pressure and the forever-shared birthdays but that is nothing compared to the blessing of my final child and how excited I was to bring her home and make her part of the perfect family I'd already been given.
All of my birthdays are special because whatever happened on them, whoever was there or wasn't there, they are a reminder of memories made, lessons learned, love shared and all of the good things to come.
I don't care about the numbers. Bring it on. Getting older isn't about wrinkles or elastic pants or early bird specials. Getting older means more time with my family, the one I was born into and the one I chose for myself, and there is nothing bad enough to outweigh the gift of time with the people I love.
2 comments:
I am SO happy that your birthday turned into another good one.
That was so sweet. And I am glad you had fun at the wedding.
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