Maybe Next Year...

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm totally being a 6 year old about it.

Not in that, "YAY!!! It's my birthday!" kind of way.

Totally in that, "But I wanted a PONY!" kind of way.

It's not that I wanted something that I'm not getting. No, actually, it is.

I wanted a BIRTHDAY.

And I'm not really getting one.

I LOVE my birthday. Like a 6 year old. I don't care that I'm old, maybe too old to love my birthday. I still love it and get all excited for it.

BUT...

In recent years it's been kind of a letdown.

Like in 2008 when I was struggling to get over the mental wreckage of my miscarriage and REALLY needed a happy day about me and everyone pretty much blew off my Big Day. Even the waitress at The Olive Garden (where I took myself out to lunch) ignored me when I told her it was my birthday.

I had to buy my own birthday cake that year. That's damaging.

Then there was 2009. My birthday was a few days after Bonnie's actual Birth Day. I was still in the hospital, my blood pressure was going crazy, the doctors were changing their minds about whether I'd be discharged every 10 minutes. I finally got home and spent the evening in a haze of percocet and post-op pain while trying to keep Jack and Natalie from bursting my abdominal stitches. Good times.

Last year...I don't really remember last year. I think maybe Tom and I went out to dinner in between cooking and cleaning for Bonnie's birthday party the next day.

And that right there says it all -- I will never really have my day again because it's so close to Bonnie's.

And she actually IS a child.

Unlike me who is just acting like one.

But, but, but...in my defense, Moms don't get much that is really their own. We spend our days cooking/cleaning/working/ferrying/juggling/negotiating/cheerleading/

advocating/disciplining/snuggling/arbitrating, all for other people. Don't we deserve a day of our own?

Yes, yes, I know about Mother's Day. It's generic and fake though. Plus, when we are lucky enough to have our mothers and/or grandmothers still in our lives, the day is really about them. I still drag ass to my Mom's on Mother's Day because on that day I'm a daughter first, mother second.

I just want a fricking day where everyone has to do what I want and act happy about it.

Is that too much to ask?

In a word, yes.

Tomorrow is my birthday. It's the best kind of birthday because it is one that falls on a Saturday. A Saturday birthday makes it is 1,000x's easier to get a babysitter than say a Wednesday birthday.

We have a babysitter. Sounds great, right? Why the hell am I complaining?

Because we're going to a wedding instead of out to dinner.

YUCK.

Tom's cousin, a lovely person, I'm sure, is getting married.

On my birthday.

I do not fault her for this as she has no idea that it's my birthday. I don't think we've ever said more than hello to each other let alone discussed our birthdays. Which is why I don't feel my presence is necessary.

BUT.

But other family members would disagree. So we're doing the right thing and going to the wedding.

Even though it's my special day.

Even though the bride and groom wouldn't miss us if we weren't there.

Even though they'd probably be glad to save the money it will cost to feed us.

We're going.

I have been dreading this day since before Christmas when Tom's mother told me that the wedding was on my birthday.

She thought that was great. I didn't.

Still don't.

I don't want to be in a roomful of strangers tomorrow.

I want to be with my children in the daytime and my husband at night.

But that's not happening.

I'll spend the day in uncomfortable clothes and uncomfortable shoes. Then I'll come home and get ready for Bonnie's birthday party.

And my birthday will pass with barely a whisper.

AGAIN.

Oh well, God willing and the creek don't rise, there's always next year.

Perhaps I should start managing my expectations now.

Happy birthday to me.