Birthdays. Everyone has one; it was the day of your birth, the day your life as a person began. Apologies if this notion offends you but I believe that life begins at birth. Just my own belief, each to their own. This year, today actually, I am 31. No more flirty at 30 (not that I ever was). People would tell me before I turned 30, when I was having a little meltdown about becoming “old”, that your 30’s are about enjoying who you are becoming. That all the angst and shit that we have carried around as 20 somethings melts away and we start to enjoy ourselves as people, as a woman, as a fully formed adult. I wrote last year around this time about becoming 30 and that it felt like the start of something I would enjoy. I would like to give a quick report confirming that 30 was fucking awesome.
I really did start to enjoy being an adult and yes, I did enjoy and employ a certain amount of “fuck you”. I’m rapidly past caring what people think of me. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not ignoring everyone and taking up underwater paint stripping. I value my friends and family and adore them all fiercely, even if we don’t always get on. I just don’t mind so much if they think I’m a pain in the arse, or silly or frivolous, or any other perceived adjective. They love me for me, and I love them for that.
This birthday was not a big one, nor was it particularly special. Another year older, 365 more days of experience and adventure to add. More pictures, more change, more me. This year, I really didn’t expect anything big for my birthday in terms of gifts, nor did I desire for anything. I was spoilt at Christmas with my awesome gift from The Boy of my DSLR camera that I had lusted over for a good 3 years. I would have been happy with a kiss and lie in – I got both of those and few other bits besides. My favourite flowers (tulips) in a vase materialised by the bed this morning, a lovely mug that he knew I would love, pastries for breakfast. His brilliant mum bought me a ticket to see a comedian we both like (tuns out she has bought us each one for our birthday), my parents sent a delicious parcel of lemon cake and lemon cookies.
But the icing on the metaphorical cake (lemon one has no need for icing) is a rally driving experience. Again, this man knows me so well. I’ve spoken on many an occasion about a long-held dream to drive a rally car. I remember watching rally car racing on TV as a child. The late Colin McRae throwing a Subaru around a spectacularly muddy Norwegian forest seems so thrilling and exciting; I ached to be a boy then. To be able to do something so dangerous and not be told that it wasn’t for girls. This dream comes true in a couple of weeks.
But one other thing struck me as an awesome birthday present. It came to me as I was in the shower (I have my best thoughts and ideas in the shower). This would be my last birthday as a Miss. Next year, when I turn 32, I will be a Mrs and The Boy will be The Husband. We get married in October and I cannot wait to become Mrs M, to share his surname, to start the next chapter of my 30’s. Today was spent in the best way possible with my husband-to-be (I love saying that out loud). We had a very leisurely breakfast, I spoke to my parents, my siblings, opened my cake and cookies, picked up the car. This afternoon we baked cookies and decided to go out for dinner at the pub down the road. A very Happy Birthday to me.