This Post Is Brought To You By the Letter "U" As In Uterus

Ok, first let me start by saying I have a love/hate relationship with birthdays. Not just any birthday mind you, strickly only MY birthdays. I'm always super excited (natch, a day all about me!) which is quickly followed by plummeting depression with the realization that I am one year older, and my uterus is one year closer to shriveling up from non-use.

But this year, THIS YEAR, was one of a kind. And not in a good way.

First, I took the day off work. Let's face it, I put up with crazy stuff and rude people at work on a daily basis. Why would I want to do that on my birthday? Exactly. I wouldn't. My birthday is sacred - hello pjs and ice cream!

Paul and I were scheduled to be "kid free" for the weekend. Instead Paul got a call from his ex-wife's husband two days before my birthday asking if we could take my step-daughter for the whole weekend. Not normally an issue (I'm not a wicked step-mom), but I was hoping Paul had a super romantic weekend planned. One that didn't involve kids. Apparently I'm getting naive with age.

Not only were we going to have kid-company for the weekend, Paul hadn't made any plans. Zero. No special birthday supper reservation at my favorite gluten-free eatery. Not even the thought of a drive-thru. Naturally, I diplomatically voiced my disappointment. Yelling can be diplomatic right?

I was beginning to question just what I was going to have to celebrate on the big day. You know, in addition to my decaying uterus and drive thru supper. I decided it might be best to casually mention the type of birthday cake I wanted (gluten-free cheesecake - yum!). Paul's response went something along the lines of "You want cake?!" As if I'd asked for a life-sized pink diamond unicorn statue. Not feeling like the most special wife in the world, I reasoned with myself that Paul would not be that dense. He was most likely playing dumb (he is a natural blonde), all the while planning something uber secret and surprise-filled.  Minus the balloons ofcourse since my husband has resigned himself to my unhealthy fear of balloons. Apparently I'm also over-analyzing way too much with age.

Cut to my birthday. Paul made arrangements for my step-daughter to stay with Mom and Dad Paul for the night so we could go out to supper! Proof that giving your husband the stink-eye can work. I decided to let it slide that Paul agreed to pull an extra shift at work the next day.

Supper was delicious! Dessert was delicious! Paul looked delicious! But there was only one way to find out for sure. We headed home for a little boom chicka wow wow. Which is the precise moment that Mother Nature decided to give me her little present. Seriously? Oh period gods how you mock me!

The next day we picked up my step-daughter. She told us how her step-dad picked her mom up at work in a limo with roses and champagne. Then whisked her off on a plane to Toronto for a romantic weekend in some swanky hotel. Hello jaw - meet the floor. That was why I was having a non kid-free birthday weekend? I was gobsmacked that Attila the Hungry had a better birthday than I did (and it wasn't even her birthday!) Not that I'm bitter or anything. Ok, apparently I'm getting bitter with age.