Happy Birthday To Me

Well, here I am, 37 years old. Another trip around the sun, and, shocker, I’m still here. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d make it this far, but here I am, living to see another day. Can’t say I’m not grateful for it, though. I spent today the way any normal, completely not washed-up person would: having drinks, basking in the glow of my children’s love (and whatever half-assed gifts they could scrounge up), and pretending that I’m still youthful enough to not need a nap after just existing for a few hours. Spoiler: I do need that nap.

The kids spoiled me today. Oh, yeah, they really did. They got me presents and cards that probably cost less than a tank of gas, but it’s the thought that counts, right? And if I’m being totally honest, I’d take a hand-drawn picture of a dinosaur over some generic store-bought crap any day. My youngest, bless their heart, decided to “help” bake me a cake. It was more like an attempt to destroy the kitchen with some flour, sugar, and a prayer. But, hey, it was the thought that counted, and I didn’t even have to clean it up, which—bonus—was the best part of the whole thing. Birthday wish come true.

But the real treat was not having to do a damn thing. The kids took over and kept me pampered, which is a rare occasion in this house, believe me. Normally, I’m the one doing everything, but today? Nope. They let me lounge on the couch like a king (without the crown, because that’s too much effort) while they did all the work. We watched movies, we played games, and I had absolutely no responsibilities. Which, let’s be honest, that’s the closest I’ll ever get to a vacation.

And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. The fact that my kids are happy and healthy? Honestly, that’s the best gift I could get. It’s not a new car or some extravagant spa weekend, but it sure beats the alternative—worrying about their well-being or some other crisis. That’s the real present in this chaotic world. But let’s not kid ourselves, the part about not lifting a finger today? That’s up there too. A solid 10/10 birthday in terms of effort (or lack thereof).

So, here I am, at 37, and I can’t help but think about all the changes this year will bring. Hopefully, they’ll involve more days like this one—where I’m not doing much of anything, and people around me are content to let me coast for once. Fingers crossed, right? But really, I’m just happy to be alive and in a place where my biggest concern today was whether or not I should have another drink. Spoiler: I had it, and it was great.

Here’s to another year of pretending to be an adult, dodging any major existential crises, and celebrating the small wins. Because when you’re 37, “small wins” are the big wins.