Birthday Musings

Well, another birthday has come and gone for my youngest. It was a celebration of princess proportions, complete with a pink castle cake of my own creation, even pink forks. There were little witches and Tiggers and even Harry Potter joined us at the party (a Halloween-themed party, if you will). Cinderella graced us with her presence as well.

Sitting among the after-effects of the latest birthday celebrations, the pink paper, the Strawberry Shortcake gift bags, princess plates, and bright pink icing around the lips of all the toddlers, I began to ponder the pomp and circumstance of these birthday parties. Why? Call me next Wednesday and I'll be complaining that I can't get my daughter out from under my feet, that I can't even study for a full five minutes without her needing help dressing Barbie or hearing her cries of, "Oh, no! Not another bug!" (She's a little dramatic.) When they are this young it's easier to find the moments of awe and wonder, the babe from your womb who makes you laugh, cry, and pull your hair out, yet birthdays are still important days to help us stop and think, to remember the pain of childbirth and the joys of motherhood.

Birthdays, in my opinion, are that boost of self-esteem we need later in life, when we look back through the pages of our photo albums to help us remember that there were so many people who loved us, who gathered together once a year just to celebrate US, no one else. Those people who love us best shopped for things they'd never even heard of ("Fairytopia? What's that?" "So this head of a pegasus that you can brush the mane of, that's a good thing, right? You want that?") and it has nothing to do with Christmas, with feeling a need to do it.

I remember what my childhood birthdays were like, when I felt special and I knew it was my day to call the shots. I could pick what we were all having for dinner and my relatives seemed to love me best on that day. And I never held a grudge against my siblings for their special places on their birthdays - in a way I knew it was good karma. I'm 31 and I can still elicit good vibes or even a free sundae if I tell someone it's my birthday. The day I was brought into the world. The day I started "living", started breathing the air, tore out of my mother's body, blood and flesh and air and mucus all mingled to mark my beginning, and every year we celebrate it. I've heard the Chinese celebrate their calculated conception as their true birthday, which I find interesting (and ironic in a way, for the Chinese at least).

So, it was another fairy tale day, if there is such a thing as fairy tales. The princess was celebrated, received everything she ever wanted, was resplendant in gown and manner, said please and thank you, and lived happily ever after (or at least until the first toy breaks). Here's to another year, another glorious 365 days. I have been blessed and privileged to be the conduit to bring that wonderful creature into the world despite the teething and chocolate smeared on the white carpet and just generally making me crazy. Her sister's birthday is next month and I'll be going through this musing all over again. Bear with me.