The dreaded B-day.

I have been busy lately. Like really busy. Like sit-at-my-desk-and-eat-lunch busy. OK, so I usually sit at my desk and eat lunch, but I'm usually blogging then-or reading all of your blogs! Instead, I have been working. Which is fine, sometimes it happens. There is just one of me and more work than I can handle. I do a few things at home to help, I work through lunch, stuff like that. I would arrive early/stay late, but I car pool.

But, I kind of stubbornly refused to work this past weekend. Saturday was my birthday. According to some, 'the last birthday a woman ever has.' Yep. twenty-nine. The last year of my twenties. 361 more days until the big three-oh. I'm not really looking forward to it. I mean, I'm not exactly dreading it either.

It's just that, I typically hate my birthday.

Or should I say I don't hate it, I just always feel let down. And it's usually my own fault.

It started when I turned five. (yep, that far back). That was the year my youngest sister was born. And she was born six days before I turned 5. She came into this world via emergency c-section, and 16 hours later underwent open heart surgery. She had another surgery three days later. She stayed in the hospital for weeks.

I remember my grandmother taking me to the store on my birthday. We were buying flowers for my mom and sister. I remember pointing out that, it was in fact my birthday. And that I had reached quite an accomplishment, I mean, illustrating my age did require the use of all my fingers on one hand. I didn't understand.

My reign as summer birthday queen was over. My thunder stolen each subsequent year, as her birthday succeeded mine by a mere six days. Joint birthday parties crowd my childhood memories. While my other sister -the winter birthday-always got a little something on our birthdays because they didn't want her to feel left out. On her birthday? Well, it was four days before Christmas, we could just wait.

It's such a silly thing. The birthday. Brad doesn't understand it, he couldn't care less. To me, the birthday is an opportunity for everyone to have that 'one day.' The momentary time in the spot light. For all your friends to stop and say 'hey, you're a special person to me. Glad I have you in my life.' or something cheesy like that.

Ok, so this is dragging on, so I will just cut to the chase. That didn't happen. For whatever reason, I'm just not as important to people as they are to me. And even at work, I am relegated back to the days of birthday sharing. In my building alone, there are 5 other birthdays within a week of mine. And if I bring that circle out to include my non-work friends, it gets even worse. I actually share my b-day with one of my friends. And honestly, I just wanted to have a low-key dinner with just the four of us.

Brad doesn't 'do' Birthdays. But during a momentary lapse of judgement, I began to construct the possibility of a greater plan in my head on Friday afternoon. And was totally let down.

OK, so I'm done whining now. Back to work.

What about you guys? Birthdays= love 'em or hate 'em? Do you share yours with anyone?