My Day. April 2

I was born on April 2, 1976.
Today, I am 31.

According to folklore (meaning, the story my Mom told me), not only
was there a distinct possibility I would not be born, but when I
actually was, I attempted it on April fool's Day.

Of the first story, I cannot take credit for making it into this world
after what was apparently a challenging gestational period. But, I
like the idea that my making it had something to do with me; that I
swim there, curled-up, using my oversized head to have long debates
with Mother Nature, "But, I WOULD like to give this life thing a
shot!"

Of the second story, I again take no credit. My Mom, as she really was
the hero of the first tale, (along with Mother Nature "giving me a
shot"), she was also the hero of the second. In labor on April first,
she refused to have and April Fool's baby and managed to keep me in
till after midnight on the second.

Although a friend pointed out the other night that considering my
sense of humor, an April Fool's birthday wouldn't have been that
weird, I still thank my Mom for her valiant knee-locking, as it saved
me from years of ridicule during my insecure childhood years, and left
me with a cool story to tell.

I don't remember how the nurses forgot to return for me to take me
back to the nursery after one of my feedings, and I spent the
remainder of my first night around nestled in the crook of my Mom's
arm, giving her one of her very favorite memories. She reminds me of
this every year around this time when she nostalgically tells me the
story of my birth, which also includes how the doctor supposedly had
to catch me when I was delivered, as I came shooting out with one arm
above my head like a super hero in flight.

Mom's a good storyteller.

I remember the lovely wooden, colorful people put into a cake for one
of my early birthdays. I especially remember my Mickey cakes. I
remember them because I insisted Mom make one for me more than one
year in a row. As an adult I have high appreciation for my Mother's
efforts, which required the baking and assembling of one large layer
cake along with two smaller layer cakes for ears.

Labor intensive, it was a rockin' cake, and I have never since had one
that tasted too good.

I remember how in kindergarten, on your birthday at The Little Red
Schoolhouse, you wore a crown ALL DAY LONG and during story time, you
got to sit in the place of honor on the yellow thrown next to Mr.
Elephant. I remember very distinctly that my birthday fell on a
Monday, because that year Suzie Thrown Stealer (or whatever her name
was) had a birthday the day before. I had to SHARE the thrown!  My
thrown!

I was robbed that year.

Mom always threw my brother and I wonderful parties. As a child, I
remember a scavenger hunt, which led me along with my friends all over
the house and outside, from one clue to the next until we reached the
end. I don't remember what was at the end, so I think the best part
must have been in the adventure itself.

I remember our outings to Wayside Bazaar to pick out party necessities
together. The dining room was always decorated beautifully with
twisting steamers and shiny balloons in my colors of choice. There was
always a bowl of M&Ms somewhere among the wonderful set table with
it's cups and plates, plastic ware, confetti and party favors. There
was always lots of games to play, prizes to win, gifts to open,
laughing, and, I suspect, me being bossy followed by me always getting
my way on MY DAY.

One year, I celebrated my birthday with cousins in New Jersey because,
as it sometimes did, my day fell on Easter, and we often went to Hew
Jersey for Easter.

Sometimes, I would lose an hour of my birthday do to daylight savings.

In middle school, I remember a slightly more grown-up scavenger hunt.
Put into teams, which this year (ooo lala! ) included boys, we were
sent all over town to meet the demands on the lists we were provided;
Get a pizza box from one of the pizza places downtown, find a penny
from 1976, etc.

That party created quite a buzz.

On my twelfth birthday, separate from my party at home, a few of my
friends threw a little surprise party. I remember they gave me nail
polish. I also remember going home early with what I thought was a
stomachache. It wasn't a stomachache – my first period started a few
days later. That blew. Talk about being a textbook case.

On my fifteenth birthday, I was headed to Orlando with my fellow
chorus, marching and jazz band friends, where we were going to compete
and perform and march and such at Disneyland. When I entered the high
school band room at reporting time – 4:45AM – I was greeted with a
rousing singing of Happy Birthday by a room of at least 200.

That's teenagers for you. You will never catch me singing a rousing
rendition of anything at 4:45AM today.

My 16th birthday was fun and games and running around at the local
armory – a logical place to put a crowd of high-energy teens.

Not that all my birthdays haven't been lovely, but the next memorable
one that comes to mind was years later during my sophomore year at
Ohio University.  I was a bit sulky because no one seemed to remember
it. In the evening, Brad, from down the hall showed-up, "Wanna play
Connect Four?" he said. We hung-out on the floor of my dorm room
playing a few highly competitive matches. "Let's go to my room and
play chess," he said. When we got to his room, it was packed with
about fifteen of my friends, there to surprise me between study
sessions. We hung-out, ate cake, horsed around, tossed about the usual
sexual innuendoes that came with college life, and watched Aaron's pet
gerbil run around in circles. It was fun.

My junior year at OU, when I was turning 21, I was snowed-in in MA at
the end of my spring break. This birthday was quite different. I was
disappointed to not be with my friends, but considering I had no
intentions of getting hammered anyway, hanging with my parents was
just fine. With few places open and little to do, we went to a local
gym to use their pool.

After swimming a few laps, I began to feel sick. I went to the locker
room, thinking I was going to puke. No puke. I sat in the locker room,
and, unable to pinpoint what I was feeling, called to Mom when I heard
her looking for me. She pulled back the curtain and took a look at me,
" Oh, my god, you're gray!" she said of my skin, "I'm getting your
father!"

By the time they returned, I was feeling better. I learned later that
this was thanks to my liver quickly producing emergency sugar for me.
We had no idea at the time, but I had experienced my first
hypoglycemic reaction.  I was diagnosed with diabetes a little over a
month later.

Into my twenties, nice gatherings aside, birthdays were a bit
disappointing. I wanted so much for them to be what they used to be.
But, being an adult did to birthdays much what it does to Christmas –
the magical shine is duller and somehow it's a bit anti-climactic.

In my mid- twenties, when I lived and worked in Upstate NY, my dear
friend Rachel came to visit me on my birthday one year. Uninspired by
another passed year and a bit overwhelmed by her ability (which she's
always had) to stay up all night and be perky while doing so, I
abandoned her to go to bed the night before my birthday. When I woke
the next morning, my place was covered in balloons and streamers – the
sweet, hard work of my underappreciated friend.

One year later, I had another lovely birthday when my boyfriend at the
time organized a big surprise party in my own apartment. I always love
an excuse for people to get together.

Since being in FL, I've had one birthday dinner at a restaurant with a
killer grilled cheese sandwich. My friends made sure mine arrived with
27-lit candles jammed into it.

A year later, I was far from excited about turning 29. The number
sketched me out. It's an odd number and somehow made me feel
uncomfortable. A close friend at the time threw me a wonderful party
and I attempted to look beyond the lameness of the number.

My 29th year, after all, ended up sucking for the most part.

Turning 30? Now, this I was actually really excited for. I liked the
count of the number, it felt good, it was even, etc. I had grown and
changed so much in my twenties, I felt more confident and optimistic.
And I was excited to turn 30 if for no other reason than to say
goodbye to my crappy ass 29th year.

My 30th year did turnout to be great. Not all the way through, but I
do feel it lived up to it's potential. Wonderful things happen that
year for me, and my family had lots of fun too - a big party for Mom
and Dad's 40th anniversary, my brother's marriage to Jodi. There was
no shortage of activity, for sure.

Now, we are back to an odd number. I don't like the number, and
frankly I don't think I am where I thought I would be at 31. But the
year still shows potential and I insist on keeping that in mind. I had
a wonderful dinner with my friends in celebration the other night, and
my good friend, Ellen will be going to lunch with me today, and that's
just perfect to me. My thirtieth year may have some very nice things
on its horizon.

If you are still reading this, I know what you may be thinking…my my,
this sure is a self-involved, all-about-her blog today!

And I'm thinking get over it! I can talk about me all I want on April
2nd.  'Cause whether I am eleven and on a scavenger hunt, or I'm 31
and having an apple martini, it's still my day and I can talk about me
all I want, even if I'm not still seven and blowing out a Mickey
birthday cake!