I’d like to live everyday as if it’s my birthday because you’re free on birthdays.
On birthdays you shamelessly sleep in. You eat three bran muffins for breakfast while letting your daughter snooze in your arms. You let people tell you you’re great and never once do your faults come to mind. Because it’s your birthday and birthdays are for celebrating YOU and being airy and light and sweet.
On birthdays you exercise because that’s the kind of year you want to have. You let other people cook you dinner and even request the meal because they offer and it IS your birthday after all.
You sit on your loveseat and read Whiskey Beach and love every second. You wash dishes with a smile and sing more and really enjoy.
On your birthday, you don’t feel guilty about asking your husband to watch the baby while you shower. Or bring you another muffin. Or hand you your water.
Why is it that birthdays are the days we enjoy? Really dig deep into life? Why do I cheer myself on to eat another piece of cake on a birthday, but nearly shame myself for a cookie on Tuesday?
I need more birthday-kind-of-days. Days where I ask for help, accept invitations to not cook, live outside guilt when I want to just sit and read my book. This year, I’ll make more days where I just laugh when my daughter pees on me. When I sneak out of bed to wash dishes in silence, drink tea in solitude and study my bible in dawn’s breaking light. This year I’ll cheer myself on to eat cake if I fancy it, sit with my sleeping daughter in my arms for just a little bit longer. And graciously let people say I’m good and believe them. I’ll have more days where I really reflect and believe I’m offering something to this world. In the form of more humus to my soil, if that’s all I’ve got! I’ll have more days of walking outside into the sun and declaring, “Here I am! Rock me like a hurricane!”
Yes, birthdays are fun because they’re different and a celebration we don’t always get. But if everyday were a birthday kind- of day, I’m pretty sure I’d be in such good practice that when the actual birthday showed up, I’d be ready to up the ante.
So here we are birthday. A chance to celebrate the day my mother birthed me (good job mom!), the day I entered the world with a wail, the day that has gathered parents and sisters around me from the beginning. Then school friends and in the lucky years – grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. And now the day gathers in-laws, a husband, and a daughter, as well as new friends. It’s pretty great, this day.
And I raise my cup of tea to you, self, on your birthday. Keep at it. Stay true. Spend yourself wisely. Live spontaneously. Love intently. And you know, rock it like a hurricane.
On birthdays you can tell your husband, “Quick take a picture of.” He will. And even if it’s poor quality, you’ll love it forever.
Reading your book for two, uninterrupted, glorious hours.
Mischievous miss NOT napping, but you laugh and scoop her up because it’s that kind of day!
And presents from the one who knows you so well that he gets you EXACTLY what you’d buy yourself. Except slippers, but you bought those last week anyways.
This girl does birthdays with cake. Triple-stacked this year. The one candle apparently represents that I’ve got one year til I’m 30.