Before Easter this year I was honored to guest post for Angie at 7ClownCircus. In case you missed the post I thought that I’d share it with you all.
My family is HUGE into birthdays. Everyone in my family gets a birthday party complete with a cake and presents and off-key singing. Heck, even Jesus gets a birthday cake at Christmas and re-birthday cupcakes at Easter. I know, we are a strange breed, but it’s kinda fun gathering all the kids after an invigorating egg hunt to sing “Happy Re-Birthday” to Jesus and fighting over who gets to blow out His candles. Birthdays are just our thing. It’s a time where we gather with friends and family and have fun.
As I took a break this weekend while my re-birthday cupcakes for Jesus cooled and I started thinking of my own birthday this past September in which I turned 30. I came to a sad, sad conclusion.
I was completely robbed.
I had no party.
There were no cupcakes.
No one sang to me.
There were no presents.
No fancy schmancy day of pampering.
It was my 30th birthday. The Big Three-Oh! It should have been special. A huge production. An acknowledgement of such a momentous event. Something!
Instead my birthday consisted of a failed attempt at a shower which included my two year coloring the bathtub with lip gloss, twisting my deodorant completely out of the stick and grinding it into the floor mat and emptying an entire Kleenex box into the toilet until it clogged while I tried desperately to wash my hair and shave the two weeks of accumulated stubble from my armpits. Oh, and this was all while trying to soothe my 13 day old daughter who lay in her bouncy seat in the middle of the bathroom and screamed bloody murder the entire time.
Not quite the celebration I imagined.
I had always thought that my 30th birthday would be a HUGE bash. Something eventful and exciting, like “Oh Sweetie, you got us reservations at the martini bar and a babysitter for the night? But I thought the day at the spa and this new dress was my present? And you look so nice, almost like we’re dressed up for a party, not just my birthday? Ohhhhh, what are all our friends doing here? Ohhhh! You got me good! Yes, I was totally surprised! I can’t believe you pulled this off! This is the greatest birthday ever!”
That’s how my birthday should have gone, right? Not one that ended with my husband coming home to find me cradling our screaming infant, dressed in only a robe, crying on the floor of my closet because none of my clothes fit my post-baby body, and the toddler wildly running around with lip gloss all over her face and chunks of deodorant stuck under her fingernails.
That is not what I had in mind. So I’m thinking, I deserve a birthday do-over, right?
A re-birthday celebration, if you will.
Maybe sometime this summer, or at least before September, I’ll throw myself a belated 30th birthday party. I’m not entirely sure exactly what it will all entail, but nothing too major. Just a small gathering of sorts to honor such a momentous occasion.
Something along the lines of a themed martini created especially for me by a professional mixologist, appetizers served by uniformed waiters, an appearance by Enrique Iglesias, fabulous gift bags for all my 50 or so honored guests, and me looking stunning in my new Dolce & Gabanna dress and pair of Manolo Blahniks.
You know, nothing too over the top.
And if I can some how work in an inflatable bounce house, I’ll be really happy.