It’s my birthday.
I write this as I sit here on the morning of, in the calm, cool, quiet cocoon of our apartment by the water, watching the boats go by, the traffic streaming across the bridge and the occasional helicopter fly by, oblivious to everything else except their destinations.
But somehow it all feels so insignificant, even more than I normally feel about my birthdays. I don’t like making a big fuss and have always felt it was pointless celebrating getting older (what for?!), for which I have scars from the first time I tried holding a birthday party with friends to thank. I guess it’s self-preservation. A way to feel ok if no one remembers or even cares, and find joy and delight at the few who do.
But it seems that I’ve had plenty of reasons to celebrate my birthday in the last years – a lot to do with my other half, actually. He’s really given and shown me that there is so much to celebrate in life. Getting married, spending summer on the French Riviera, birthday surprises, photo book compilations… and just being together in general.
Once again, this year’s no different – there is so much to celebrate, especially with the upcoming birth of our child. Nothing else has really been on my mind except to prepare for this amazing and life-changing event, that when the focus is turned just for a moment to oneself, it all seems so pointless and mundane. Everything else blurs in comparison, seeming so unimportant and trivial.
As I look down at the huge lump rolling from side to side in my swollen belly, I am reminded of just how much our lives are going to change. The insurmountable joy, laughter, pain, anguish, worry, love and responsibility that must come with this cute little package; the feelings and thoughts I’ve never before experienced or will ever experience.
I am in awe, excitement and yet at the same time nervous and anxious about what is to come.