At 5 a.m. this morning, Cole calls out to me from his room, "Moooooom….I think I had an accident." No worries, buddy. Come to my bed, go back to sleep.
Next, it's 7:30 a.m. and I'm walking into the kitchen to get coffee going and I see that my sweet Dan has given me a brand spankin' new blender (something, much like a new car, he had convinced me I didn't really need. I mean, so what if our 20-year-old blender had no lid. It still worked, didn't it?) And when I had it fully loaded up with blueberries, strawberries, flax seed and yogurt, it started leaking uncontrollably and the blade would not spin.
Then at 8 a.m., Cole threw a fit because I wouldn't walk upstairs with him to brush his teeth. (Don't say it out loud, but he's currently afraid of the aliens that apparently live in our bathroom.)
Then at 8:15, Chip throws up.
As I begin my 41st year, (or is it actually the start of my 42nd?) I refuse to take these things as omens.
Yes. It's my birthday.
One of the many things I've picked up from Dan over the years is that when it is your birthday, tell everyone you know. And remind them constantly. Tell strangers at the grocery store. Make a sign. Whatever it takes. Because you know what? Birthdays just aren't as special when you're older. So…any attention you can garner for yourself is a good thing. However contrived and unnatural it may be.
Long gone (for me, anyway) are the birthdays from my late 20s…when I would arrive at work and anxiously try to anticipate when someone, in God's name, was finally going to remember it was my birthday. I mean come on!
But you see, I'm older now. 41 years older to be exact. And I know better.
And how do I feel at 41?
At this very moment I feel:
adequately warm while wearing semi-ill fitting clothing
happy, because my parents just called me (while I'm writing these words) to sing me "Happy Birthday"
calm, because even though I gots me a mountain o' deadlines for work, in the end, it all gets done
chubby, because I am exactly 23 pounds heavier than I was on the morning of the big 4-0.
lucky, because chub or no chub, Dan still thinks I'm really hot.
blessed, because I would not trade a single, solitary minute (save for the roughly 7 months I dated a guy named David in my early 20s) for this amazing, charmed journey that has been my life.
Now that makes for a happy birthday.