Forget the candles, just give me the cake

Today is my birthday. And I’m not afraid to say: I turn 32.

Every year, as my birthday approaches, I change into a total freak show. I put my life under the microscope and get annoyed at everything that I am not doing perfect. And I get these underaccomplishment attacks, like I’m never doing well enough. Such a drama queen. I am truly my own worst critic.

This year somehow I’m not doing that. I’m actually pretty happy. Not in a “yay! I’m going to get lots of presents!” way (though that’s nice too) but in a “hey, things are pretty good” way. Sure, there is always room for improvement. I could be better looking, slimmer, richer, a home goddess, have a bigger house, blah, blah. But none of those things would guarantee me happiness, now, would they?

Yet, for years I kept thinking that in order for someone to be worth of a celebration they’d have to have done something special, valuable, important in the past year. But it’s not really about that, is it? Because really, it’s about what you are. And if you are loved, and if those who love you think of you as someone special, valuable and important then yes my friend, you absolutely deserve to be celebrated.

My family is all excited about celebrating my birthday. (I like to think that it’s more about me and less about that killer chocolate cake we have ordered for tonight.) Before Sarah left this morning, she hugged me and said “Happy birthday mommy. I love you.” and right then I felt pretty special. So bring on the cake. But leave the candles. Because as sappy as that sounds, it’s true: everything I could wish for, I already have.

P.S. But if you have an in to Michael Kors and you can convince him to send me a Lattington satchel in purple I’ll gracefully accept it.
P.P.S. Tell him I’ll make him cupcakes. My special chocolate-coconut ones