Happy & Healthy

WHY EVERYONE CAN FORGET CHILDREN'S BIRTHDAYS

Confession time. I am a disaster at remembering birthdays. I have an aunt who sends a card for every children's birthday and every Christian holiday (seriously, on December 6th the Christmas card lands on the mat). Think the opposite times a thousand and that’s me.

I’ll illustrate it right away with a humiliating example. Halfway through August, I texted my sister-in-law what they were going to do for her son's birthday, which, I thought, was on August 24th. “Oh well, I have no idea about that yet.” I found that strange for my normally so incredibly organized sister-in-law. “Sam's birthday is September 24th, not August!” The bad news is that I was a month off. The good news is that at least I was early. That was already something.

“And even my best friend Anna sometimes texts me on her own birthday to ask if I haven't forgotten something Very Important”

The birthdays I know are those of my own family (although I always juggle with the birth years of my daughters. Was she born in 2009 or 2007? It’s a lot for my pretty little head, all those dates) and of my parents of course, then comes a large group that is always ‘somewhere in’ a certain month. Friend Marte is ‘somewhere in early’ July, Asjha ‘something with’ December 12th. Or was it the 9th? And even my best friend Anna sometimes texts me on her own birthday to ask if I haven't forgotten something Very Important. Just to protect me from my own blunders.

That’s all well and good, but my friends, family, and vague acquaintances are all having kids, of course. It’s just piling up, you know, it’s hard to keep up. And so I am now officially a birthday drama. Moreover (and that’s confession two) I would really like to send super thoughtful cards, but to be honest, I’m not looking forward to yet another children's birthday party.

Before you know it, you have two birthdays a week. One from that vague uncle and the umpteenth toddler birthday. And they are never really fun parties. It’s an artificial gathering where even the birthday child has no full say over the invitation list. There’s always an aunt, uncle, or some random type that nobody wants, but well, they’re just part of it. Or that father of your friend who always sits on his throne telling family stories. I don’t want that and I don’t need that.

“I’m bad at it and I don’t have a birthday calendar.”

I think this is the reason I don’t have a birthday calendar. Because I am now, self-appointed and sort of, legitimized to forget it. I’m bad at it and I don’t have a birthday calendar.

Until I recently told friend M (she who is somewhere in early July) that her son was almost 1. I asked when and immediately felt incredibly ashamed because I didn’t know, because M is a very good friend and I should know her son’s birthday. At least his first.

“May, let’s stop with that nonsense. There are too many kids to remember all those birthdays. If I want you to know or if I want you to come to a party, I’ll send you an invitation. Let’s not chase each other with that torment that nobody is waiting for.”

Look, and that’s why she’s my friend now.