On Your 44th Birthday

 On your 44th birthday, nothing will go as planned. You'll wake to find your four year old feverish and miserable, dooming those Disney on Ice tickets. You'll scramble to find a duo to join your husband and daughter at the show and sigh with relief that one piece of your birthday puzzle can continue, even if you won't be part of the experience. While father and daughter watch Elsa and Anna and Moana, you'll be snuggled beside your firstborn, who rarely sits still long enough for cuddles. 

You'll watch The Wild Robot twice and at the part where Roz helps launch Brightbill into the sky, worried she'll never see her adopted son again, you'll feel tears creep along the edges of your lashes. 

"This part always makes me cry," you'll say.

"Why?" he'll ask.

"Because she loves him so much."

And he'll smile and nod.

He won't eat the crackers you bring him in a bowl and instead he will request something soft and you will offer to make brownies. It'll be a ploy, of course, a box of protein powdery brownies to trick him into a bit of sustenance. He'll agree and you'll bake what will be your birthday cake, adding chocolate chips to entice the patient. After three bites he will curl up and say, "that was good, I'm done." Starve a fever, right? So you won't push it, opting for apple juice and you will wonder if you should ask your husband to stop on the way home for popsicles, more juice, more tylenol. You'll forget all those things and it will be fine.

Your parents will call, sad for your change of birthday plans, asking about their grandson and his fever. Your mom will muse about what she was doing 44 years ago and you'll agree that post-C section memories are fuzzy 2 years later, much less 44. Your parents will tell you they love you and you will believe them, as you always have. 

Later, from his sad bundle of blankets, with Mr. Fox under one arm, your son will ask for lunch. And when you ask what sounds good, expecting something simple and sickly and sad (maybe applesauce), he'll say, "barbeque chicken and waffles." So he'll be fevered and tired but you'll be happy to have him briefly stand on the chair beside you in the kitchen while you microwave some chicken and he pours some barbeque sauce and proudly mixes his creation. He'll ask for extra honey for his waffles and you'll be proud to know he, like you, prefers honey over syrup. 

Your little sister will call and wish you, "Happy Birthday" and you'll discuss a raincheck for shared birthday festivities, nobody wants a fever. You'll remember, as you always do, that she is your favorite birthday present.

When your daughter gets home she'll proudly give her brother the light up toy (Maui's hook) she picked out for him at the show, which will cost a mere $40. You'll share raised eyebrows with your husband, who was suckered into this Disney on Ice adventure weeks ago, and he'll admit it was fun. 

You'll open presents from your little family, the purse you wanted from your husband, and gifts from son and daughter that your son picked out earlier in the week. Cozy socks you'll wear as soon as you get out of the shower, a sparkly pink Christmas ornament, and a necklace of "jewels" that you know you'll treasure. It's the first time your son will have chosen a present for you and he will be adamant about this specific necklace and you do love jewels (and rocks that look like jewels), and you'll be touched your son knows this about you. 

Your little brother will call on his way to pick up your niece at play practice. "She'll be our thespian," he'll say. And after well wishes and birthday teasing you'll discuss Christmas and the likelihood that one of our boys will sport a black eye by the end of the holiday since we'll be giving my nephew a hockey set and our son an archery set. And you’ll remember, as you always do, that you get to parent alongside your baby brother, though he's hours away, and it will make you smile. 

You'll hug your husband in the kitchen while your elderly dog begs to be fed for the fourth time. "Do dogs go senile?" you'll ask, and you'll make a note in your phone to ask the vet about her growing confusion. She's a good girl, tired, and losing her eyesight, and you'll save that sadness for a day that is not today.

You'll order supper from the Thai place your sister likes and after spring rolls and Tom Kha with enough of a kick to make you cough just a little bit, you'll sit down with your daughter and a bundle of stamps. Your daughter who used to say so little, who struggled to hear and understand, she'll now point to a chair and demand, "sit here, Mama." One by one, you'll pull stamps from her bag and she'll delightedly exclaim, "Fower! Cake! Know-fake! Cockodile! Xylophone!" and the "xylophone" will be your favorite because the stamp is not a stamp of a xylophone, it's a stamp of eighth notes. Little minds are so quick, so exuberant, musical notes are a xylophone, Mama! 

A skipped nap for your daughter, a fever for your son, means they'll both be in bed before 8, a rare event. And you will make a cup of tea using the tea kettle that whistles like a harmonica, a gift from your late uncle that he begged you to return ("I didn't know it whistled like a harmonica, that's ridiculous," he said). You'll have a slice of protein-laden birthday brownie (baked in a cake tin because you couldn't find your square 8x8, brownies just aren't meant to be pizza-shaped but it will be okay) and you will thank God for this sweet little life and this particular trip around the sun.