I need to warn you this story is going to bounce around all over the place, but it needs to so you get my point. As the end of another year comes to a close, I look back at what has occurred this past twelve months. This year was full of events from the best of times to the worst with the highlight of 2011 being the birth of my fourth child, Riot, to then the crashing devastation and sorrow of my friends’ loss of their baby girl, Karlie Ann. I’d hoped to end the year on a good note.
I look forward to the Holidays every year. It is a blast to watch my kids get excited while putting up the tree and watch their faces light up when they see what Santa brought them Christmas morning. Right after the jolly holiday is my birthday and I have an extreme amount of mixed emotions about my birthday. My mom always made sure to make my day special growing up. She’d make sure to wrap my presents in birthday paper and keep it separate from Christmas. But, I’d always over hear the pillow talk of my parents through my bedroom wall at night, worrying if they’d have money to buy me something after they’d spent so much on Christmas. My mom would never tell me they worried though, but kids hear. She’d some how pull through and I’d have a great present.
So, because of this I’ve always made sure my kids have an awesome birthday. From the moment they wake up to the second they close their eyes for bed that night, their day was full of fun. Each year they are served a breakfast of their choice, we plan it out a few nights before so I’m prepared. They get to be “the king” or “princess” for the day and are vetoed from any chores. It’s a day all about them. My husband even gets this treatment. Well, he still had to go to work if it’s a week day. I really try to give him a “day off” to the point he doesn’t have to lift a finger when he gets home.
This year as my birthday approached, it was kinda a big deal to me because it’s my last one in my 20’s. Next year I’ll be hitting the big 30. I hoped it’d be special. My husband asked what I wanted. I gave him a list and even showed him in the stores. Like, walked him right up to it and handed it to him so he wouldn’t have any mixed signals. The only thing I was iffy on was what to do on the actual day. We’d talked a lot about how I’ve never had a group get together or party since my thirteenth birthday. Finally, the night before arrived and with no party happening I decided to have my family (my kids and darling husband) make root beer floats and watch a movie. The day came and as I woke to screaming kids I knew it wasn’t going to be any different of a day than usual. My sweet mom did remembered me though and got me a present to open. My kids wanted to go to my sisters instead so I could out to dinner with my husband, so the root beer floats were out. (And my sister is awesome because she kept my two middle kids over night so I could get some “alone” time with the husband)
As we came home and my husband fell asleep on the couch (the “alone” time isn’t going to happen) while my oldest played a video game, I realize it’s just another day. Moms don’t get special treatment and that’s okay for me. It’s my job to spoil everyone. Are birthdays supposed to be a big deal because they never are for me? Maybe they are just for kids and all they need to be for me now is a day to grow older. While I sighed and walked upstairs to put my baby down for the night, I am grateful to be able to have that. Knowing there are parents who have empty arms. I’d trade any birthday so they could do this one more time. I know I’m lucky and kissed my baby’s chubby cheek and went to bed.