I am thirty one years old today. I share this birthday with little Max, a friend-of-a-friend’s baby who was born this morning at 5:30 am, and whose delivery stats I followed closely on facebook, excited for some reason that a new baby would share my big day, even though thousands of new babies are no doubt born on this day every year. I also share this birthday with my sort-of-uncle, that is to say the man who married my husband’s maternal aunt. We call each other Birthday Twins, because he is jolly and kind and likes to find things in common with people he sees once a year at weddings or maybe Christmas. And so am I, I suppose. I also share this birthday with someone in my Torts class. I called happy birthday to him across the room, and he called the same to me, and then everyone started talking about being twenty four years old and approaching thirty and all of that. I didn’t share my shiny new age. I’m trying to practice preserving a little mystery.
Tonight it’s just us three. We will go to the pool, and then we will go to have dinner, and then we will eat a cake I made my husband bake for me, and I’ll open the gifts that came to me by mail. The day will pass. My brother will forget to call.
Happy Birthday to me.