Growing up, I’ve never really appreciated the fact that my birthday is always so close to the beginning of the year. In school, by the time I’ve made new friends close enough to share birth dates, mine was already long over.
As I grew older, I didn’t particularly like the fact that by the time my friends celebrated their birthdays in November/December, I’d be 1 year older in 2 months’ time. Not to mention that Valentine’s Day is just days away from mine, and I never really had a V-day gift. It was always a birthday-oh-cum-V-day present.
Having spent a few decades mulling over silly facts about my birthday, I’ve finally come to terms with it. It is my special day. A day my Mum spent suffering nearly 18 hours trying to get me out naturally, but failed. And a day my Mum spent months after, recovering from the Caesarean-section wound. Thank you Mum, I owe you so much.
Since the arrival of the kids, birthday celebrations and presents have become random, not on schedule, and some years non-existent. Oh well, life goes on. No big deal.
This year though, presents have arrived early, thanks to the Man. And extra special too.
What burned a hole in the Man’s pocket, but have kept me smiling to myself since morning.
Thanks for making my 30-ahem!th birthday an extra memorable one. Love you lots…