Day #287 Writing Through COVID-19: Happy Birthday?

I am 61. Happy Birthday to me.

I've long felt ambiguous about birthdays. They have too often left me sad, anxious, or irritable. It's a weird day of taking center stage, even if I most need to hide behind the curtain. 

I've had my feelings hurt on my birthday. For example, when I turned 13 my parents gave me a watch (expected, they'd given my older sisters the same on their 13th birthdays) and a hairbrush. A hairbrush?
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I was an angry middle child. Years later I raised my own angry middle child. Even though I had myself lived in my parents' blindspot, I repeated their oversights. As long as child #3 was doing okay, I turned my focus to the oldest (who was breaking new ground) or the baby (who had so many needs). 

At the time, I was grateful my middle child was thriving (well, surviving?) while everyone else budged to the head of the line with urgent needs. Big families have their own set of positives, but "enough attention" isn't one of them.
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Whoa. Where did that come from? 

Maybe uncertain birthday emotions.

But here's the good news: At 61, I have birthdays figured out. 

1) Take the reins. I don't wait around for friends to contact me. Instead, last week I set up a morning Zoom coffee with my Atlantic friends. Our friendships go back 35 years of raising children together.

Next, I sent invites for an evening Zoom with English-teacher friends. 

In the middle, I organized a 20-minute party with my kids. 

I can throw a party, so I did. I had a blast (three blasts).

2) Treat yourself. I made a frozen sausage pizza for lunch (my favorite) and then ate the leftovers for supper. Dan didn't (dare) complain--perhaps because he lived with me during the years I was less at peace with birthdays.

3) Let it go. Birthdays demand some level of reflection, but at 61 I know that it's better to save the heavy stuff for a less emotional day. I suggest gliding through the birthday and taking stock on, say, Groundhog's Day?
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My parents called tonight while I was on the Zoom meeting with my kids. They left a voicemail: the "Happy Birthday" duet they've sung to me for years.

When I called back, we shared a warm exchange. Afterward, I told Dan that their annual birthday call meant a lot to me this year. They'd lived with me. We'd re-learned each other. We'd forgiven each other. 

For a middle child, this matters.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison