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happy birthday

Today is my husband’s birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!) so tonight the two of us are going out for a romantic dinner in the city and tomorrow night we’re throwing him a Fijian themed birthday party at home (I’ve gone a little mad with the decorations, he’s worried we won’t be able to fit all the blow up palm trees in the house!).

I’ve told him to let me go crazy, theme parties are my thing, so he’ll let me turn the house in to a tropical paradise to celebrate his special day, and after a few long island iced teas he won’t even mind being the centre of attention for the night, much as his sober self hates the thought.

My mum’s birthday is next week and she wants us all to forget about it. She’s turning… no, I dare not say… and she’s not excited or thrilled about being another year older. She’s instructed us not to make a fuss, even though it’s a milestone birthday, because in her opinion there’s nothing to celebrate.

Let me explain why this is hard for me… I’m mad about birthdays, any reason to throw a party and spoil the people I love makes me happy. I love Christmas, New Years, Australia Day… any holiday that gives us an excuse to get together with friends & family and celebrate. If there’s a theme involved and a party to plan, all the better.

I would rather nothing more than to spoil mum rotten, to make a spectacle of her and tell the world how proud I am of her and how much I love her. To shower her with gifts and parade her around all day with a big birthday button pinned to her chest, age on show! But this is one of those times when I must listen and respect other people’s wishes, much as it pains me, so mum will have the low key birthday she wants.

All this birthday planning has made me think about my own age and the tick tick ticking of the clocks (the biological kind). For so many years I always thought I had time, plenty of time, before the alarm bell rings. But celebrating another birthday today makes me realise that I too am getting older, how long before the balloons and blow up palm trees of my wonder years pop?

There’s no way to avoid getting older, time passes, whether we’re watching the clock (the literal kind) or not. Every day I look in the mirror and I notice my crows feet are a little deeper, the lines in my forehead are a little longer and there’s another new freckle on the back of my hand. Long gone are the days when the security guards at the club would ask for my ID, even the sleazy ones, it’s quite clear I’m of drinking age… almost two times over (eeeek!). Time has well and truly caught up and I can see her out of the corner of my eye coming around the corner to lap me.

I’ve considered my options; botox, chemical peel, face lift and I’ve even tried all the miracle fixes; hydrating creams, eye lift creams, fight the 10 signs of ageing creams… but there’s thatcrows feet2 clock, tick tick ticking away, and none of those things seem to keep her at bay. So every year I celebrate my birthday. I celebrate what I’ve achieved in the last year, and in the last thirty… something! I’m not happy about the wrinkles and the lines, or the freckles, but for each one of them I have an amazing memory from the year they were created. A friend of mine told me that the worse your crows feet are, the more you’ve smiled in your life… aren’t women full of shit? But she’s right about one thing, they are at their most prominent when I’m laughing, so as long as my crows feet are on show, something must be good in my life and worth celebrating!

Happy Birthday everyone!

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