As I’ve gotten older, birthdays have really gotten stale. In recent years, it’s nice to get a few phone calls, a card or two, and a dinner with my wife. And that’s about what I’d say the event merits. Not that big a deal. Maybe I’ll feel differently on some of the looming “big” birthdays down the road, but for now, midway through another decade, I’d say I’m not expecting streamers and surprise parties anymore.
And then my daughter came along. Damn if my birthday hasn’t been hand washed, detailed and given a full tank of gas. I woke up this morning actually jazzed about having a day with fun stuff in it. My daughter, smiling in her crib, was the first present of the day. And then I found–for the first time in my life–a “Happy Birthday Daddy” card waiting for me at the coffee maker. And wow, if I didn’t start to get a tad emotional about the whole birthday thing.
Perhaps it’s the way having a baby makes everything more meaningful, and puts one’s own life into a place in time. She’s the future, and I see in her eyes that every moment I get to be with her is special, and not to be wasted. And so marking time with a celebration, well that suddenly makes an awful lot of sense.
Hell yeah it’s my birthday. And yes, baby daughter, we are going to have some fun today. And in response to my daughter’s tweet first thing this morning, yes, babies do get presents on daddy’s birthday.