Birthday Blessings

Today, I am 41 and completely spoiled.

This morning, I had my eyebrows waxed, and the esthetician told me how great I look in red.  It is my best color, which is why I wore it today. 

I moved on to my manicure, and the manicurist, who hasn’t seen me in months, said that she loves my hair.

“The short or the white-blonde?” I asked.


I called home for messages, and my friend Debra had sung “Happy Birthday” on our voicemail, plus said she loves me and my blog and knew I was a great writer when she read my first article, which was 12 years ago.

My friend Cathy then took me and my son out to lunch, and I had a glass of wine because I can, considering that I’ve now been of legal drinking age for 20 years.  The combination of my IVF meds and the wine made me tired, so at 1:30 p.m. I crawled into bed with my son for a nap, only to be tormented by his talking. 

First, he made a tent with three pillows and positioned himself under it.  Then he asked, “Mama, can I have a kiss in my tent?”  I kissed him, of course.

“Mama, do you want to know what I did at camp?”


“I emptied a box and put it on like a shell.”

“You what?”

“I emptied out a box and put it over my head, like a shell, so no one could hurt me.”

“Oh, like a turtle shell.”

“Yes, but a turtle shell is small, not like a big box.” 

He paused for a minute, then asked, “Mama, why do turtles walk so slowly?”

“Because that’s how their bodies are designed.”

“So, God made their legs and arms to walk so slowly.”

I was too exhausted to explain that turtles don’t have arms, so I just said, “Yes.”

The doorbell rang, and I was so tired that I ignored it.  It rang again, then the knocking started.  So, I stumbled down the stairs, opened the door, and was greeted by a deliveryman holding a vase filled with gorgeous flowers.  The note said, “The sender of your gift has recorded a message for you.  Call 1-800-xxx-xxxx and enter your pin number to hear it.”  Intrigue overpowered my tiredness, so I called the number, entered my pin, and listened to a message from my sweet husband, wishing me a happy birthday, telling me how much he loves me, and saying that he can’t wait to see me later. 

I went back into my son’s room to find him standing by his bed, not lying in it.  I told him if he wants to stay up late tonight with his grandparents, he has to take a nap.  He claimed he’d already slept.  I told him not to lie to me on my birthday.  I climbed back into the bed, where he started arranging the pillows into a tent again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I said.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he replied.

“Well, you shouldn’t drive me crazy on my birthday.”


He obediently put his head on his pillow, waited three seconds, then asked, “Is it time to wake up yet?”

The doorbell rang again.  I was incredulous.  I walked down the stairs and opened the front door to find my friend Adam, with my freshly printed business cards in hand.  (It was his wife’s idea, so thanks to Jessica.)  Adam, who runs Specialty Print Communications, gave me a birthday hug, presented me with my cards, and refused to take payment.  And, he hand-delivered them in the middle of the business day.   

I feel like some sort of celebrity.  With all of this attention, I gave up on my nap.

At 5 p.m., my in-laws are coming over to babysit so my husband and I can go to dinner with his work colleague and her husband.  And, my mother-in-law said they’re bringing gifts.  I love gifts…

My friend Chris called last night, my friend Gayle texted me, my friend Ann left me a Happy Birthday voicemail this afternoon, I’ve gotten numerous e-mails, and, due to Facebook, I’m getting more birthday wishes than I’ve ever had in my life.

So, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone for being so sweet to me today.  I have had a rough few months, feeling exhausted and like a human pin cushion, with needle marks and bruises all over my distended stomach.  But, thanks to beauty treatments, I have great hair, fantastic eyebrows and polished fingernails.  And, thanks to all of you, today I feel so blessed to have such amazing family members and friends, rather than depressed about being six years into “advanced maternal age.”

And, this morning my son guessed that I was turning 63, then 73, before I told him I’m a mere 41.  It’s all about perspective, and he made me feel young…  I love that kid.

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