Not a Birthday Person
- 09
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- 09
Disclaimer: There is a high probability that this post will make no sense. To the extent that there is some philosophical meat to it, it will be buried in more frivolous anecdotal whining. You see, today is my day sans Nanny (cry me a river) and I have just spent the past four hours and forty-three minutes wrangling my Blue Angels (Toddler and Baby). Alone. Yes, alone as in without the able hands of a certain hot and hands-on paternal figure and without the assistance of a trained professional. And, yes, Toddler was tucked away in Preschool for three of those hours (yes, we made it today!), but still. I know. I know you do this every single day or your wife does or someone you know does. I know. It’s just that I don’t. And every time I do, I want to take a long shower and scream and go to a night club and be a teenager again fall in love with my girls a little bit more, but I am tired. Bodily and mentally. And then my thoughts are kind of loopy. So consider yourself warned.
My birthday is coming up. I will be thirty-one. I know. You don’t care. No one cares about thirty-one-year-olds (a hyphen too many? Be honest.) No, in this society, people care only about a) little kids; b) sixteen-year-olds; c) eighteen-year-olds; d) twenty-one-year-olds; e) and then the decades (thirty, forty, fifty, etc.) But thirty-one-year-olds? Whatever. Not even worth talking about this birthday or, say, devoting an entire blog post to this milestone. Because no one cares. Truth is, I don’t care. I’ve never been a big birthday person. Birthdays kind of stress me out because, well, they are indicators that I am getting older. Oh, and every year on my birthday (except for last year when I was busy clutching a bridesmaid’s bouquet and having the cutest little contractions) I make a mental list of all of the people who should call or email and say happy birthday and inevitably, members of that invisible list do not call or email and then I tell myself I do not care and very rapidly overdo it on the Pinot Grigio get over it because, really, I don’t care about birthdays. Not at all.
If I secretly cared about birthdays I would for instance tell you the actual day (October 4) and ask you to mark it on your calendar and then I would make some casual and supremely witty joke about how you could maybe drop me an email (or a blog comment!) and say happy birthday on that day. But I wouldn’t do that. That would be embarrassing! And, anyway, even if I did that, I would not make my impending unimportant birthday the point of an entire blog post. That would be so transparently narcissistic and I am all about insecurities, but that would be a little overboard. Even for me.
So. Three paragraphs and fourteen minutes later, here I am about to spew the “point” of this post. And remember the foregoing disclaimer and note that I use the word “point” quite liberally.
While the world really does not care about 31st (wow, so much better than all those pretentious hyphens) birthdays, Husband does. About mine at least. The other day, he asked me what I wanted for my birthday. And, frankly, nothing came to mind. Perhaps I have given you the wrong impression on this blog, but I am not at all materialistic. In fact, material things (like clothes and diamonds and shoes and decorative items for our new home) make me queasy. Yuck. So this was a tough question. But I vowed to think about it.
What do I want?
Dutifully, I have given it some thought. And I figured it out. I know what I want.
This is how it went down this morning.
“I figured out what I want,” I said, flashing an absolutely irresistible and mischievous grin.
“What’s that?” Husband said.
“A fourth child,” I said.
Husband laughed. Which was cute, but kind of rude. Because this is really want I want. Sure, we only have two kids at the moment and the third kid is not even a blip on our collective mental radar screen and Husband has made it very clear that we are capped at three kids, but that fourth kid? I want it. Yes, it. I’m not even being picky about what it is. I don’t care if it‘s a boy or a girl. I just want it. I want four kids. Is that so wrong?
Well, maybe. (And this is the point in the post where I veer off on a slightly more serious, existential detour, so deal with it.) Why is it that we so often talk of kids as commodities, as things to add to our collections? It’s not like getting pregnant or staying pregnant or sustaining a healthy pregnancy is easy, akin to going on a spontaneous shopping spree (in the neighborhood after brunch at Ocean or Citrus). It’s not like labor is a spa day. It’s not like those first few months of sleeplessness are pure bliss. It’s not like that twenty-block walk back from Preschool with two screaming children during which you are sweating through your jeans and chanting “I know you have to go, but keep your peeps inside you and you will get unlimited candy corn!” is really that much like a designer bag (Chanel, metallic preferably, quilted, gold hardware). No.
So why do I want so many of these creatures? Why do I want to ensure that my home is covered in a thick layer of rainbow toys for as many years as possible? Why do I want to completely eliminate all possibility of a relaxing vacation without little ones (Miami or Bermuda? November?) Why?
I don’t know. I can’t help what I want any more than I can help how mangled this essay thing you are reading is. It is what it is.
Game over. While the Angels are still napping, I must tidy up and do laundry crash on the couch and watch The View on DVR before it is time for Round Two.
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Are you a birthday person? How many kids do you want/have/dream of? Any insights on how to convince Husband about Baby #4?
Everyone struggles and...
i swear, sometimes i think you’re in my head and it’s kinda freaking me out. i’m 28 (i know, now you’re mad at me and will stop corresponding with me). i am NOT a birthday person at all. when i was in middle school, my parents organized a “breakfast party” for me. it was a surprise, and when i woke up on the morning of my birthday, i woke up to a bedroom full of my friends, balloons, and donuts. i still had my head-gear on (yeah, like the kind for when you have braces on your teeth). i was MORTIFIED and have DESPISED birthdays ever since. it’s not the aging that bothers me. i’m actually quite anxious to get to 30 because 28 feels like such limbo, especially when i have friends who are nearing 35, etc… i dream of 4 kids. i want 4 kids. not 3. 4 please. i don’t know how the hell my husband and i will ever accomplish that, but it’s what i dream of. in terms of convincing, i’ve got nuthin. i can’t even convince hub to start thinking about child #2 yet. (and yes, i promise to not wish you a happy birthday on oct. 4th). FANTASTIC post!!!
I enjoyed today’s blog. Keep up the great work.
You crack me up, girlfriend! I have two kids, but I won’t mention the gender since it doesn’t matter. (Boys) I mean all that matters is they’re healthy, right? (Healthy teenager is an oxymoron.) Two is more than enough children, by the way. I’ve always said, once they outnumber you, you’re in ridiculously large trouble. (Not kidding.)
And, I LOVE my birthday! I think the whole world should stop what it’s doing on my birthday, which I won’t mention because it’s rude (December 18th), and cater to me, glorious me!(Also not a joke.)
Happy almost birthday, you youngster, you. And two (kids) is a nice, round number, don’t you agree? No? You’d prefer four? I’m one of four (hell-raising) girls – you might want to check w/my folks before you walk down that magnificent (dangerous, heart wrenching, tragic-laden) road.
I’m just going to go ahead and say it HAPPY BIRTHDAY. I do think you should get that 4th baby. I mean you are the one who has to carry and BIRTH the baby; his role is minimal right?
Plus, can’t you just get him drunk enough one night and take advantage of him? Husbands like that anyways. So really its a win-win.
Most people forget about my birthday too (plus it is 2 days before my daughter’s), so don’t worry you aren’t the only one making love to the vino
You kill me! I loved thist post. Right down to the quilted Chanel bag that you “don’t” want.
So, I’ll tell you who cares about thirty-one-year-olds (I like the pretentious, and grammatically correct, hyphens): 32-year-olds (my newly minted age).
Mine was last week and I had mixed emotions about it. Not the year older part – that doesn’t bother me so much. But whether or not to be celebratory. As a kid I LOVED birthdays. Announced them for weeks beforehand. Drafted long and obnoxious lists of potential gifts. And now, deep down, I still want to do all that. But at 32 it seems less socially acceptable. So I spent most of the day silently sad that none of my coworkers knew it was my b-day, and then feeling guilty that I even cared.
But hubby, son, and I walked down to a great little bistro for dinner and then to the next-door gelato joint afterwards. It was a gorgeous night and I had a great time. But without cake, candles, and singing, it felt a little anticlimactic. And then, again, I felt like a brat for caring…
As for the kids, we want 4. Two biological, two adopted.
No. Zero. And you shouldn’t have to convince him, but I suspect you already know that. And I also suspect that if you really want four children, you will get four children
To expand, birthdays have never been a big deal in my family I think, in part, because we are a tiny family. In the US it’s just me, mom, dad, sister, one grandmother and one uncle. And the only ones on the East Coast are me, mom, dad and sister. And we are in three different states. And we are a very independent, non-affectionate “European” family. As in we don’t hug. We don’t call (except my sister, I still think she’s adopted) and we don’t say I love you. I haven’t seen my grandmother in . . . 7 – 8 years?? And I have only seen my US uncle twice and my Brittish uncles twice. Sorry, rambling, the point I was trying to make is that I think it’s hard to be a celebratory family gathering person (birthdays are included in that) when you don’t have a family that likes or can or does get together to celebrate things. It’s just not us and therefore, just not me!
I love my birthday. In fact, it’s really more of a birth MONTH, the day having somehow morphed into a 30-day extravaganza. I am 31, too, and you’re right: it’s a REALLY anticlimactic milestone.
I love birthdays! And I think it is totally acceptable to expect lots of cupcakes and pinot and gushing and focus on you on that day, or week if you can make it happen
. It’s fun to have it be unabashedly all about you once in a while, right!?!
As for convincing the hubby, I had to wait nearly four years to get #1 so I am clearly not the gal to ask… but my guess is that he may come around in time. I am the ultimate planner and it drives my husband crazy; I am trying to take it as it comes. Wait till #3 is potty trained and take it from there! (Famous last words, you can repeat them to me in the inevitable future when I’ll be having similar issues convincing my hubby to go for #3!)
I am neutral on birthdays. Mine is coming up as well, (39 on October 16th) and that is kind of a weird birthday b/c it is on the precipice of a biggie. I’m feelinglike this next is the year I have to decide a lot of stuff, career-wise, (do I think about leaving, take a risk and put my name in for a big promotion, stick with where I am?) and family wise (go for a third child or close the pregnancy chapter of my life with my 30s?). Growing up, my birthday was always anticlimactic because I share it with my mom, so we always did joint things. As an adult, I love that we share the day, but as a kid, I wanted the attention all on me.
On getting your husband to go for #4, I might attack it logically, his objections center on the rental car situation, right? I happen to know that minivans are easily accessible from Hertz here in NYC and once you have 3 children, you will need the minivan for any trip based on luggage alone (especially in your family where girls outnumber the boys). Once you have the minivan, you may as well fill it up. (I’m thinking we may have a sequel to “If You Give a Pig a Pancake..,” “If You Give An UWS Family of 5 a Minivan… you may as well give them a 4th child to go with it!”
I always wanted 3 kids. Yet I still only have 1. If you can convince your hubby of #4, please tell me what you said or did, so I can convince my hubby that we MUST HAVE #2 sooooon, before my eggs shrivel up and dieeeeeeeeee.
Stopping birth control & become a sexy horny girl has not worked (thus far).
(my god, i have started this comment about 12 times now and been distracted by children. ag, it surely won’t sound as fresh now, bear with me)
i.hate.my.birthday. i would like to like my birthday. i would like to love my birthday. i would love to like my birthday. but i don’t.
my mother forgot it one year.
it took my husband 5 years to realize that thoughtfulness is important. this means planning ahead, dearest. it doesn’t mean stopping at walgreens and bringing me a new stainless steel coffee mug in a plastic grocery bag.
as for four kids.
yes
and
yes.
i hear you.
have three.
kind of want one more.
so don’t mind me if i steal your birthday wish come april.
oh. and one more thing. am 31. 31 is ugh. nothing glamorous. old enough to know better. but not exactly old enough to realize that you should know better, or something like that.
(did i mention that my response lost some clarity through the first 12 attempts to hit SUBMIT YOUR COMMENT? sheesh)