You’re gonna party cuz it’s my birthday….

In my family, birthdays were always a big deal. About a month ahead of time, my mother would start asking me what I might like, what type of cake I wanted that year (chocolate), who I would like to invite to my party, what special dinner I would subject the rest of the family to (lasagna). Being a Virgo and all, I would usually start collecting catalogs and fold over the pages of some toy I found particularly enthralling starting in January and keep a running list. Any gifts from relatives distant would be squirrelled away until the Day Of- no sooner, no later. And when the anticipation was at its peak, I’d wake up in a flurry of excitement and head downstairs to enjoy My Special Day.

As I got older, the day changed in nature. Instead of a pizza party at the roller rink, I’d go to Disneyland with a group of friends. Once I got to college, it was a boozy night out with my dormmates- at least, I think it was, I don’t remember college too well. The libations of choice changed, but the celebratory atmosphere was always the same. Like Bridezilla, but with birthdays- Birthzilla. Yes, birthdays are sancrosanct in my world, and woe unto him who tries to make my day mundane.

Sadly, I got married to one of those Ambivalent Birthday Guys, who thinks you’re supposed to be impressed that they remember the day, period. And then, to make matters worse, I had kids. *sigh* On that day, or on those two days to be exact, my birthday ceased to be the most important day in my universe. Now, my birthday comes and goes with perhaps a little handmade card and some flowers while I spend the month before my daughter’s third birthday looking for the right way to frost a Dora cake. My husband, a man so conservative you can’t get him to wear a tie that isn’t grey or blue, donned a 7 foot Teletubby costume and paraded around our front yard to make the kids laugh, all in the name of “birthdays are for kids”.  And my day? MY day? Not so much.

And for a while, that was enough. I accepted my husband’s paltry birthdays/kids excuse when he would half-ass some kind of gift card from the grocery store at the last minute, or give me a vanilla cake. (Seriously, after six years of marriage, vanilla cake??) And after a couple years of doing it all for the kids, I realized- hey, why can’t we ALL still have big deal birthdays? Why does being an adult mean you have to relinquish your sense of entitlement and debauchery? I’ve realized there is no good reason. And with that, I’m unapologetically reclaiming my birthday as an official Big Deal.

With it glaringly apparent that my husband wasn’t going to take the reins on this one, I decided to turn to those who have kept the torch alive without fail- my sister and my mother. My sister, single for the past 5 years, is the master of Assertive Birthday Planning, having taken charge of her own celebration on multiple occasions and turning out great weekend long events in the process. When she realized the most exotic location I would be taken on a birthday trip was the 7-11, she announced plans to drive down next weekend and take me to Disneyland. The kids are staying home with the hubby, by the way. I’m hitting all the rollercoasters for the first time since before my first pregnancy.

My mom, the genial matriarch of it all, the founder of the feast as it were, arrived this year with candles and a chocolate cake. And presents. With real wrapping paper, not those crappy bags where all you have to do is pull out the tissue paper because everyone knows only real presents have wrapping paper.

I had the bad fortune of being scheduled to work on my birthday this year, and despite years of being modest about such things in the past (to outsiders at least), I embraced my Birthzilla this year and made sure everyone around me knew of the blessed occasion with at least a week’s lead time. And when I walked into the office this morning, there it was- the cake, the goofy cards, and best of all, the balloons- “I’m the Birthday Princess”, chosen just for me. As tempting as it was to wear my party hat into the exam rooms and interrupt every client telling me about their dog’s diarrhea with, “Did this start before MY BIRTHDAY or after MY BIRTHDAY, which is TODAY?” I managed to refrain. I even shared the cake with the coworkers I don’t like, though only after everyone else got some. And they had to have the vanilla pieces.

So yes, it is my birthday and I will shout it from the rooftops and happily accept all gracious wishes and acknowledgments of my grand accomplisments embodied by merely being born. And on your day, I’ll do the same for you. Because everyone deserves cake and balloons at least once a year- I don’t care how old you are, my friends, embrace your birthday- after all, it’s your birthright.

Did I mention it’s my birthday?

-jesvet/Birthzilla