Yesterday was my 30th ish birthday. As a rule, I don’t like my birthday. I’m good with other peoples’, and love to make a fuss for Hubby and the kids on theirs, but my own? Nope. Never liked it. I think it’s because I feel strange essentially asking people to celebrate me. That and January is a rubbish month to have a birthday!!
But, this year, I decided to throw caution to the wind and have a whole entire birth week, a week where I would be nice to myself, allow myself treats, and maybe, just maybe, work up the courage to ask people to help me celebrate my 30ish years. It felt important to do that this year, given everything that’s happened this last year. For me, this is as much of a new year marker as the 1st of January, if not more so. This time last year, I was weeks from hospital and as bad as I’ve ever been in my life. This year? Vastly different.
So my treats to me have been very self indulgent. On Monday, I took myself off for a lovely, hour long, deep tissue massage which was just spectacular, and yesterday, I went mad altogether and did this:
It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years, but for many and varying reasons (although predominantly financial) I kept putting it off. Not this year. Hubby and my sister got me vouchers, so I had no excuse. What made this more special was that my youngest sister came with me. To say we haven’t always seen eye to eye is an understatement – we’re incredibly alike and sparks have flown regularly over the years, alongside lengthy periods of silence. But, I’m so happy to say, that’s all in the past and we’re getting on great now, so to have her with me yesterday felt like a momentous occasion.
As for the rest of my birth week? I’ve had lots of cake in good company, been hugged and kissed to within an inch of my life by my kids, and am even planning a night out Saturday, without being utterly petrified. I feel good. Long may it last.