Why do we celebrate our birthdays, anyway? If there is anyone who deserves a party in their honor every year on the anniversary of our births, it is our parents, not us. All we did was show up; they’re the ones who did all the actual work.
Let’s think about this for a minute. For nine and a half months, our mothers had to carry us around, all the while watching their own figures rapidly diminish until they could no longer see their feet or stand up on their own.
You might think that our fathers had it easy, but after being the crazy pregnant wife, and crying every time my husband fell asleep on the couch while watching television, and therefore obviously didn’t love me, I have to disagree. Our poor fathers had to put up with nine months worth of mood swings and temper flares that we unknowingly caused.
So wouldn’t it make more sense to throw a party for our poor, suffering parents on our birthdays? I don’t know about you, but I’m convinced – if only because of the fact that it means the focus is off of me for a while.
If it wasn’t obvious from my unhealthy obsession with the birthday topic, today is my birthday. Feel free to send presents.
I don’t know why, but it seems that every year, the birthday holds less and less excitement. Maybe it’s because when you’re young you don’t even really know when your birthday is, so you expect less. In any event, the older you get the more disappointing birthdays become. You have to hang out with a ton of family members who like nothing better than to embarrass you with stories of your childhood.
“Remember that time you ate an entire mud pie cause I told you it was made out of chocolate?” they laugh. “Yeah, I was sick for a month and I just remembered why I don’t like you,” I think.
Then it’s present time, and even though many of the presents you get will be the craziest gifts you’ve ever seen, and you can’t believe that they actually make something so ridiculous, you have to smile and pretend it’s the greatest thing ever, even when you’re not entirely sure what it is.
“It’s a beer can chicken cooker, of course. Yes you can put the whole beer can inside the chicken and cook it. I know you’re a vegetarian, but I thought maybe this was allowed.”
“Wow, I’m not sure,” I say. “I’ll check the rule book.”
All I really want to do on my birthday is go home to my quiet house, snuggle up with a good book and my wonderfully well-behaved baby and have a peaceful and quiet evening at home; however, I’m sure that’s not what will happen. My two crazy dogs will probably eat my good book. My well-behaved baby, who learned how to crawl two days ago, will be tearing through the house pulling things off shelves and chasing the crazy dogs, and I doubt my house will ever be quiet or peaceful again.
So happy un-birthday to everyone who doesn’t have to suffer through another birthday today, and for those who do, good luck surviving it. Oh, and if you get a beer can chicken cooker, keep it. You’d be amazed what those things can do.