Last week I was 12 years old and having a sleepover with 10 other girls. We wore paper hats my mom made, cascading with curling ribbons in pink and purple. My dad carried out a cake in the shape of a sandwich reading “Have A Peanut Butter And Jelly Birthday!”
Dad made the cake.
Yesterday I was 16, riding the Tube by myself, Walkman in my ears blasting “Boys Don’t Cry” by the Cure and “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others” by the Smiths on my mixed tape. I went to Oxford Circus and picked out my present – a brown leather bomber jacket.
Today I am 35. I woke up to see my daughter’s face light up in the crib when I got her up for the day for the first time in a week. I had coffee with lots of cream in my favorite mug. I read the paper, made pancakes and took a shower. We had lunch at the mall food court (I had a cheeseburger from Tom Wahl’s) and ice cream. I took Em for a ride on the merry-go-round, and in line we ran into my sister and her kids. We rode the carousel together and then I blew my birthday money at J. Crew and the Gap.
Tonight I’m going to my sister’s house for a BBQ dinner and a cake made taste like a giant Ding-Dong. My mom will be there, my beloved sister and her family, my in-laws, my cousin and her family, and Mr. C.
And The Poo. My darling Poo.
I’ve spent my birthday in a hospital. I’ve spent my birthday in the car. I’ve spent my birthday in mourning.
Today … today is a perfect birthday.
