Monday, 5 May 2008

Achey Birthday

Man, birthdays smart when you get into your thirties.

To be fair, I’m barely there, and a few weeks ago I was even asked to prove my age at a bar, much to the amusement of those around me.

It didn’t make me feel any younger, and indeed, I did celebrate my first 30-something birthday this weekend.

I got the usual cards and lovely messages, old git this and grandad that from those younger than me, and the polite ones from the older generation.

I’ve never really got birthdays and would usually be happy to let them pass with a bit of a whimper.

After all, what do they mean? Surely they are merely the same date as that to you were born on, albeit with a different year.

What I mean is, with all the leap years, birthdays can’t actually be considered to be the anniversary of your birthday, if were working on dividing days lived by 365 anyway.

This year’s celebrations coincided with my football team’s last fixture, so there was a fair group of people up for a night out – regardless of motive.

Made me feel fairly popular anyway.

I spent the day with my wonderful son, who enjoyed the football match, or the bit of it he watched.

We seemed to score every time he chanted or sung, which was funny. Sadly Max was quickly bored of that, so we only managed two goals.

My mother then cooked one of my favourite meals. Cow, that's the food not my mother.

My son had been quite specific with my birthday cake requirement, and I’m led to believe a decent search was necessary to find my dinosaur cake.

The night was spent in the company of some new-ish friends and some from my past.

Drinking no longer suits me, not because I behave differently when I’ve had a drink. I seem to have got my emotions and feeling-sorry-for-myself moments well in check.

It’s more the day afterwards, or more honestly, days afterwards.

I hurt.

And by being useless for a day or two, means I’m behind on everything, including my writing.

I have more pressing matters though.

One of Max’s nursery chums is coming home with us from nursery for an afternoon of tomfoolery. Let’s hope it doesn’t escalate into blind ugly violence.

But one golden lining, at least there is no point catching up on the cleaning!


Violet said...

A friend once told me that a birthday is simply an annual reminder that it's great to be alive.

Single Parent Dad said...

Thanks again Violet. I prefer my daily reminders;-)

Not sure I'm ever going to care much for my birthday. I suppose that might change if Max ever gets excited about it.

Post a Comment