Post Birthday Blues

November 19… Nov. 19….. Nov. 19th ….

OK, perhaps an infantile obsession, but I always loved seeing my birthday in print. Loved being in school on my birthday so I could write November 19th on my papers and later as heading to notes. Even out in the real world, loved writing it on letters, checks, logs… I mean, it is just the coolest of days. :)

I just always loved my birthday. It was the day I was ‘special’.

Birthdays ROCKED!

So, it’s no surprise when I got married and later had kids, I went all out, even stressed out to make sure they had ‘special’ days. Birthdays are a big deal in our house. Everyone’s birthday but mine. And hence, the post birthday blues.

I know pity parties are attended by one, but, every year I’m left wondering - Where did I go wrong? I raised my kids to celebrate birthdays, theirs, their siblings, their father’s… Why then has it evolved to the point where no forethought is brought into mine?

It was always difficult when the kids were little. Self-absorbed alcoholics don’t plan well. Don’t get cakes when they don’t like cake, don’t decorate and don’t think about taking kids to the store to buy mom presents, at least before the day itself. Every year I spend time alone on my birthday while the rest of the family is bonding as they shop for me. So, this year when they were planning to shoot out to buy gifts, I told them to stay home instead. And instead of the cake someone was ‘gonna’ bake, just clean up the kitchen. It is what I wanted more. Unfortunately, the promised cleaning never happened.

The only thing I consistently receive on my birthday are apologies.

Perhaps in making everyone’s day ‘special’, I’ve orchestrated it so efficiently that no one realizes real caring and actual effort goes into process. It doesn’t just happen.

It makes me sad. But more importantly, I am concerned they will adopt more of their father’s style than mine in their interactions. Last year, my eldest was rather cavalier with his girlfriend’s birthday.

How do I make them understand that inconsiderations may be only little pinpricks, but they are wounds that hurt? And years of pinpricks leave one bruised and bleeding.