Birthday Girl

I sit surrounded by fifty singing toddlers. A sits in my lap, gripping my thumb tightly, her pacifier bobbing up and down with intensity. Classic signs of A -nervousness and who can blame her. Being led by an incredibly silly man with a guitar, the fifty-plus bounding bundles of engergy are attempting to place their thumbs on their head, while at the same time trying to place their elbow on one knee, while also attempting to place the other knee to their ear. The man with the guitar, doing the same, suddenly falls to the floor, and the over fifty toddlers I've mentioned once or twice all jump up while peals of laughter echo throughout the halls of the library.

It is the morning of my thirty-third birthday. If anyone had mentioned to me ten years ago that I would be sitting, pregnant, in the floor of the library with fifty children, their parents, and my adorable two-year-old watching a children's musician attempt to lead a mass game of Twister, I would have laughed hysterically. If anyone had said to me that I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would have rolled my eyes and kept on walking. No, I had other plans, like becoming a successful writer and perhaps assistant editor of a magazine, living in New York, of course. Yet, somehow, here I am celebrating my birthday with an army of strangers under the age of 5, and I seem to have acquired a vastly different definition of success, thankfully.

Despite the occasional struggle with loneliness and isolation, I love staying home with A and have no regrets. When people say, "Oh, I could never do it, I'd lose my mind," or, "I would be so bored; I need to feel like I'm contributing or accomplishing something," or "I need adult interaction," I just think, "it's not really about me right now." That's after I unruffle my offended feathers. Not contributing, huh, what exactly am I doing then? Anyway.....

Yet, today, on my birthday, I must admit, I'm feeling a bit loneseome. Despite my getting A and I all dolled up in dresses, bows-for A , makeup and nicely styled hair-for me, and necklaces-for both of us, (hey! it's my birthday) no one here seems to know its my birthday, nor do they seem to care. Of course, how could they? My siblings and parents are at the beach, my husband is working, and my daughter seems to think it is still the previous day and her father's birthday, "not yours, Mommy." None of my friends have called. And, perhaps I'm just feeling a little down from the cocktail of pregnancy horomones and summer heat, but I'm a wee bit glum on my birthday. How can that be? It's my birthday!

I've always loved birthdays. For me it's a magical day of endless possibility. A day of surprises, flowers, balloons, phone calls, well-wishes. Am I too old for skating rinks and birthday candles (I'm not a fire hazard, yet)? I refuse to believe it. For me birthdays will always bring a twinkle to my eye and spring to my step and the fact that anyone as blessed as I could be down is true nonsenese. The people who matter most have called, my parents, siblings, aunt, grandmother, mother-in-law, husband. T even took A and me out for a delightful lunch. I get to spend the day with the coolest toddler on the planet. And the one who matters the most did this:

For [God] created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,

Your works are wonderful,

I know that full well. Psalm 119:13-14.

With that being said, how could you feel anything but special and loved on your birthday?