I Am At An Age

Clint found these fantastic inflatable letters, so even the pool was in on the party.

I am at an age where I still celebrate birthday month, which means rather than confining the festivities surrounding my birthday to a single 24-hour span of time, I spread the fun throughout the entire month of April for all to enjoy at their leisure. After all, why limit yourself to one celebration when you can have a month of them? 

Many of you have asked, since we are past the midpoint, how birthday month is coming along. COVID-19 invited herself to the party last year and put a serious damper on things (I am a fun, creative person, but there is only so much even I can do whilst in the throes of quarantine). Surely this year I have made up for lost time with double the merrymaking, right? Err.

As it turns out, I am at an age where I get migraine headaches more frequently. I started my birthday month with a moderate one the first week of April and then woke up the day after almost completely deaf in my left ear. I am at an age where things like that happen. I was relieved to find out that I am not at an age where the deafness is permanent--a semi-panicked visit to my doctor confirmed it was not related to my migraine but instead, an ear infection caused by the massive amounts of pollen blowing through my fair city this allergy season. I am at an age where things like that seem to really throw me for a loop. I rallied and pressed on enjoying the month of my birth.

Happily, I am at an age where my mama still makes a fuss over my birthday. We headed to Georgia for Easter weekend where she took me out for a special lunch and a girls' day of shopping, and she ordered an amazing lemon coconut cheesecake all the way from Junior's Cheesecake in New York City, just for the occasion. As we are oft to do when we visit my mama's house, we ate ourselves into a stupor and had a fun weekend getting into the swing of birthday month. 

I am at an age where I asked for birthday money rather than birthday gifts, and I took that birthday money and bought myself something BIG. I am now at an age where I am the proud owner of a beautiful Chanel handbag, which may or may not have made me cry a little when I purchased. I have named her Karlie and I will never, ever be at an age when she is not a prized possession. 

Having impressed the importance of all things birthday upon my friends, family, and even casual acquaintances, birthday week was filled with treats and surprises. Gifts and cards came by mail and delivery, and I took great joy in opening everything from kitchen towels to shoes. A darling neighbor decorated our mailbox with balloons and other neighbors showed up with wine and flowers. I enjoyed text messages and phone calls and even a serenade of "Happy Birthday to You" while I was out walking my dog. I will probably never be at an age where I am uncomfortable being the center of attention, so all of these things thrilled me to no end. 

I am at an age where the best laid plans can and will be derailed. I am at an age where I love nothing more than getting dressed up for a fancy dinner with my husband, and very much look forward to a fun-filled brunch with my notoriously difficult-to-schedule friends the next day. These are the makings of a perfect birthday weekend for me. Sadly, I am at an age where another migraine appeared on the eve of my birthday, lingered all weekend, and refused to go away even with "rescue" medication prescribed by my neurologist. I may or may not have asked Clint at one point to kindly call the in-home hospice vet who put our ailing senior dog to sleep last year (after all, it seemed like such a peaceful way to go). He refused, but I think it was more because he was afraid she would charge us by the pound.

I still put on my new dress and even managed a high heel wedge for my birthday dinner, although Clint says I was channeling Weekend at Bernie's the entire meal (for those of you not familiar with this piece of fine cinema, Bernie is a corpse masquerading as a live person throughout the film). I drank water and took deep breaths and came straight home to bed, where I remained crying for much of the weekend. I am at an age where pity parties can and do still happen. 

Here we are, all dressed up for my birthday dinner.
I wasn't exactly feeling festive, but I am at an age where you fake it until you make it.

Birthday brunch, however, did not happen, nor did much of anything else. Mercifully, I have recovered from that wretched headache and have now enjoyed an entire week plus stretch of good health, knock on wood, so things are looking up. I am now at an age where I do not take feeling good for granted. I now roll with the over-seventy age group in the doctor's office waiting room. We are the frequent flyers and even in our face masks, we recognize one another as brethren. 

Even though it hasn't been all I had hoped it would be, birthday month isn't over yet. And in an unprecedented move even for me, my friends couldn't get together for that celebratory brunch until May 1, so I still have that on the calendar, too. I am at an age where birthday month consists of two migraine medications, one antibiotic, a round of allergy antihistamine cocktails, and three days in bed. Luckily, it also means being spoiled by friends and loved ones, gifts and trinkets, cake and get togethers. And I am at an age where all of that means an awful lot.

I am at an age where we focus on the highlights. Happy Birthday to me.