Sunday was my 29th birthday.
Birthdays aren't really a big deal to me anymore. Aging doesn't bother me (says the a girl with no wrinkles, gray hairs or errant signs of aging). I never feel any different.
Which makes me think of my 16th birthday, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one, but I remember going to sleep the night before absolutely certain that I would feel different the next day. Surely my 16 year old self would be more mature, more lean, far superior in all ways to my infantile 15 year old self.
I was sadly disappointed the next day to look in the mirror and see that 16 year olds could still have bad hair days.
We spent the day doing very little. We took the kids to McDonald's so we could unleash them upon the germland of slides and plastic boxes. After about an hour of screaming and french fries and one spilled milkshake, we decided to go to the toy store. The kids spent the rest of their Christmas gift cards and we found a train table for Hurricane.
I broke my own personal rules against store bought cakes and got a small one from Dairy Queen after Girl X pleaded for several days.
They surprised me with gifts. A handprint kit from Hurricane, a Ray Charles CD I'd been hinting at since Christmas (to which Mr X laughs hysterically because I am as subtle as a sledgehammer) and Marley & Me- a book I am already halfway through and completely engrossed in.
It was quiet and sweet. Perfect.
A far cry from the way I used to celebrate birthdays. Once upon a time I would have ended the night extremely drunk and singing (Poor patrons of my old favorite dive bar!) along with the jukebox.
Then there was the early birthday celebration I shared with another friend before I moved out here. Girl X was at my parents for the night and my friend decided to introduce me to the fine art of jello shots.
I ate half a tray and started drinking whatever was handed to me.
I ended the night making snow angels in 3 feet of snow wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Someone thought it would be funny to take pictures and I have one tucked away in a box along with the day after pictures where I look like Joan Rivers after the last stitch holding her face in place snaps.
Sometimes I'd like to go back and slap me and other times all I can do is laugh at some of the things I pulled (all while hoping my own kids don't ever do the same things).
In an act of solidarity, I gave up drinking. Mr X can never have another drop of alcohol. His illness prevents him from ever taking the chance. It's not like he was a big drinker before anyway. He had been in his early 20's but by the time I met him it was a rare occasion.
Still, I know sometimes he misses being able to just go to a bar and shoot pool and have a beer. I miss it too. But I can't imagine sitting there and drinking a beer in front of him. I imagine it's like taking an diabetic to a candy factory.
And I did not mean for this to turn into this!
We put together Hurricane's bedroom furniture this weekend. He was not even remotely impressed with all the tools and wood and instructions. We got through it with only a few strange swear words (flatulent cow!) and missing pieces. Mr X managed to give himself a staph infection because you know, furniture building requires wounds and staph.
Hurricane remained entirely uninterested in the whole process until Mr X put the canopy over his bed and we climbed in.
He pointed his little finger over his head to the blue star-strewn canopy and breathily uttered his one-word approval, "wow".
He then ran into his closet and hid, leaping out from the corners to yell 'GAR!!' and scare us every time we passed by.
He has not slept in there yet. He is not ready (translation: I am not ready to be reduced to a weeping little puddle of tears at the sight of that little body sleeping in that giant (twin) bed). He is still recovering from being sick last week. I don't know that I'm up for another round of sleep training right now either.
Talk to me in another 3 months when he finds a new way to climb out of his crib. We moved his crib away from the wall because I caught him using the wall to propel himself up and over his crib. My little acrobat.
Girl X was so much easier. She climbed out of her crib and never looked back. She slept through the night by 2 months and once she was asleep there was no waking her up. When she was 7 months old, I took her to the local park to watch the fireworks.
She fell asleep 5 minutes into it.
Aside from the 2 years of sleep walking and sleep talking, she's been easy to get to sleep.
Hurricane won't go to sleep unless he wants to no matter how tired he is.
I am not really looking forward to the 'big boy' bed. I will no longer be able to contain him in his bed, thereby making his efforts to elude sleep futile.
It's moments like this that I wish I still drank.