Last year, I had laparoscopic surgery four days before my birthday. On my birthday, my husband had to go back to work, so I rested in bed for the fourth straight day, three-month-old Paul on the bed right next to me, kicking and sleeping and otherwise acting surprisingly good. By the time Ryan was due to come home, I was bored from being in bed for days, so I got up and made a very yummy dinner for us. (It was all the more delicious to eat knowing that I could not possibly have a gall stone attack.) All told, it was a nice birthday.

This year’s birthday has been even better. Last year, my (costliest) present was abdominal surgery (for which I was very grateful). This year, my present contains a roof, four bedrooms, granite kitchen countertops, and a back yard. It should be ours as of next Thursday evening, barring disaster.

Of course, it will take at least 30 years to pay for this present, so I guess my birthday presents for the foreseeable future are covered!

My Happy Birthday

This year’s main disappointment was that my husband was out of town. But since I knew this would be the case, I was determined to have a happy birthday all the same. So I’ve been asking myself, what makes a happy birthday?

Last year, I loved making my husband dinner; it was just what I needed, since I’d had a few days of laziness. It felt wonderful to do something for someone else. It felt nice to be productive. I wanted a nice birthday this year, even while alone.

When I awoke yesterday morning, I decided that I wanted to take a luxurious, warm shower in my own shower. As much as I love to exercise in the morning, there is something quite distasteful to showering, changing, and doing my hair in the public restroom. No: on my birthday, at least, I wanted to get “cute” at home.

Then I asked myself: what would I love for my birthday? I decided I wanted to have a clean house. When Ryan’s gone, I get lazy: I leave dishes in the sink; I leave things lying around; I leave messes on the counter. So after Paul ate (or not) his breakfast, I cleaned the entire downstairs. I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, and I vacuumed the entire house.

It felt so nice to have a clean house. I kept thinking: what a wonderful birthday present I’m giving myself! And it didn’t feel like work. (Don’t get me wrong; I don’t like to clean. But it felt good.)

Paul was cranky, but as a result he was happy to give me a few minutes of cuddling during Sesame Street. Then we went to Paul’s playgroup for an hour, where he could run around, much to his delight. After his lunch, Paul went down for a nap, and I indulged in reading a little of my novel. After all, I’d already cleaned the house; I didn’t have to feel guilty. Then I frosted the chocolate cake I’d made and  two of my friends came over to help me eat it; one friend has a little boy Paul’s age, so they had lots of fun.

By the time my friends left, Paul had his dinner and I gave him a bath: I love the laugh of a happy little boy. I sang him a lullaby and he went to sleep. I had a little bit of time to write on my blog and then I talked to my husband on the phone for an hour. Sigh. It was as perfect a birthday as could be without my husband here.

What Is a Happy Birthday?

People seem to say that birthdays are a day for other people to indulge you: your “special day” apparently means no work.

But I don’t understand that. Waiting for other people to serve me would have made for a pretty disappointing birthday. I would have been completely alone, in a dirty house, with a cranky baby, and no chocolate cake. And, in the long run, I think that attitude would lead to a pretty disappointing life. Other people can’t anticipate what I want, and nagging them to do what I want wouldn’t be much fun either. (I hate nagging.)

I loved the fact that doing little things for myself (like doing my hair and makeup, cleaning my house, visiting with friends, making a treat) were very rewarding in one little day. And I think that is what I should be doing every day, for that is what makes life rewarding.

I like the concept of birthdays: a special day for each person. And yet, as busy stay-at-home mothers, I think we should treat every day as our birthday: not by being selfish and expecting things of others, but by doing for ourselves whatever it takes to make life pleasant. (Not that I suggest we eat chocolate cake every day, or sit and read a novel every afternoon, or clean the house every day…)

The next step, of course, is then going out and making a difference in other people’s lives. Why wait for their one day of the year?

What makes your birthday happy? What do you hope for? What do you do for yourself every day?