My birthday is on Friday. I used to hate my birthday. I never understood the people who celebrate all month, all weekend. I haven't looked forward to my birthday for a long as I can remember. Growing up it kind of just felt like an afterthought. I do celebrate it. I let my husband do things for me, and we always have cake and blow out candles but for years I simply did it for my husband and children. Because it would be low-key weird and f*cked up if you don't celebrate mom's birthday.
I've grown neutral about my birthday in the past few years. I don't dread it like I used to. I just accept it. I use it as an excuse to be lazy, which is nice. I still will do the shit that I need to do. Run errands. Do the laundry. My husband will inevitably be annoyed that I did the laundry on my birthday and I will remind him that I am not a special princess and that life must go on.
Last year was great because we went to Mexico City to celebrate my birthday. What an amazing trip it was. We got back the day before my actual birthday. I got so sick. Last year on my actual birthday, I was legit dying. My husband made a cake and everything and I was like, "I can only eat toast and drink Gatorade." I shit 80 times that week. EIGHTY. I remember because I kept count. I walked out of the bathroom at 3 in the morning, my husband looked concerned. "Are you okay?" I cried. "I shit EIGHTY times this week. I think I might be dying." "Dude, you should go to the hospital." I was like, "Nah. I'm about to drink 100 oz of Gatorade though." That's a memory. The other day I asked him, "Remember when I was shitting myself on my birthday last year?" He was like:
I can laugh about it now but it was bad. I can't just take a trip every year on my birthday - I can't really afford it, plus January is a sucky month for weather. So I am accepting my annual pre-birthday existential crisis.
I will be 36 years old. That's young. It's young but old enough that I know things so I think it's a good age to be. I honestly don't mind getting older. I'm in great shape, I feel good, my life really isn't that hard. I really should have no complaints. The thing is, I can't escape this crushing feeling that I haven't accomplished anything in my life.
Which, on the surface is crazy. I have checked off the boxes. Married for 17 years, 2 beautiful children, graduated from college, own my home, had amazing jobs, became a lactation consultant, I volunteer. What more do I want? I think that is the craziest thing. I really don't know. Maybe I thought I would be more interesting or something. I don't really care about having a lot of money or notoriety. I guess that's for me to find out. What fun would it be to accomplish all of the things? You know?
I look back at my life and I feel like most of what I have accomplished is really overcoming obstacles. I have been through very dark times in my life and I have walked through that. I am a child bride that somehow stayed married and we love each other. I had two kids in college and I finished. I feel like I spent the first part of my life really climbing and clawing to get on everyone else's level.
I think my biggest accomplishment is my kids. Which is such a bullshit, cliche thing to say. I have dedicated my lives to them. Fully and completely. I know that they feel loved and supported. I have great relationships with them. So that is a win.
I have helped a lot of moms. A ton. I am good at getting a baby on a boob. Does that count as an accomplishment? I have talked many new moms through breakdowns. That is something good I did.
I have a servant's heart. I am always willing to help out. I have spent years volunteering my time. In the classroom, for my kid's activities. I hate how they make fun of PTA moms on the internet. We aren't all pseudo-power hungry upitty bitches. I do what I can, when I can and it has given me satisfaction.
I am a stand-in mom to other kids. Sometimes I'll walk into school and I'll hear "Hey mom!" "Madre!" and it's not my kid. I always get random hugs from kids. I have watched many of these kids grow up. I'll be at the middle school and this big 8th grader will walk up to me and I'll say, "I remember when you were in 3rd grade and you always wore the same red pants. They were your favorite." It's crazy because I do remember things like that.
Just yesterday, I went to pick up my daughter's two friends from the high school. She wasn't even there because she had an eye doctor appointment that ran late. I was taking her friend to an event that was part of her birthday present. Love this child, would do anything for her. I'll call her Adopted, because I always say she's my adopted child.
As I'm driving, I'm thinking about how I'm turning 36 and have not accomplished anything in my life. I spend a LOT of time in the car and that's what I do - contemplate life.....or sing songs about selling drugs and big booty hoes. There is no in-between. On this particular day, I was contemplating life.
I pull up to the school and the kids get in the car. I ask Adopted how her day was. She just sobbed. And sobbed and sobbed. Then she started to talk. Once they start to talk, it all comes out. She told me all the things that were upsetting her. I just drove and listened. I dropped off the other friend, picked up my oldest and dropped her off at work, and then it was just me and Adopted going to this event together.
We talked about everything. I gave my insight as an adult. And reassurance. Sometimes kids want guidance on how to solve their problems and sometimes they just want someone to tell them that it will be okay. Life can be so heavy sometimes for these kids and they have to know that it gets better. It doesn't always get less heavy, but you get stronger and the load gets easier to carry. She was better. She had gotten it all out.
After the event, I said, "You want Chik-fil-a?" That always helps a hard day. She was so cute, "Can I get a milkshake too?" she asked. "Yeah, bitch!" I replied. I really did say that. I don't want anyone going around thinking I am a saint or anything. I got her Chikfila and drove her home and she was in good spirits. She spoke about plans for this weekend and we joked.
After I dropped her off, I drove home and was like, "Okay, God. I get it." And I do. I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing. It is not glamorous, there is no praise or recognition but I have done good in my life. I have a good heart and I always try to do the right thing. That has to count for something, right?
Besides, I'm only 36. I am young. Bram Stoker didn't write Dracula until he was 50, Julia Child was 51 when she published her first cookbook, Henry Ford didn't design the Model T until he was 45. Maybe I will do great things. Maybe I'll write a book or become a stand-up comedian. I'll be like, "So, this one time, I shit EIGHTY times in a week...." I don't know what will happen but I'm going to bank on the fact that one day I'll be pretty damn great.
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