Today is our birthday. We’ve shared 31 birthdays now. Thirty-one.
This day has always sucked. I’ve never been a good birthday girl. In fact, as a child, I recall being in trouble most of my birthdays. It was better to have been in trouble and angry than to have been sad. Why? Because no matter how hard anyone tried, no matter what amazing gifts I got, no matter how many hugs my Grandma gave me or laughs my mom tried to make me laugh, the ONE thing I wanted, every, single year, I never got.
A phone call. One, fucking phone call.
For as far as I can remember, that was all I wanted. I got damn near every material thing I asked for. And I have not one, but two amazing parents who love me more than words, one who truly didn’t have to. Not to mention that my Grandparents are most definitely the very coolest grandparents… ever… That should be enough, right?
But it’s not. I’m a selfish, vile human being. I still, at fucking thirty-one, JUST want that phone call.
How pathetic is that? I have an amazing family. Six absolutely gorgeous, unique, hilarious and perfect little human beings to whom I am the center of their universe. I mean, truly… who needs more than that??
Fuck. Apparently, that would be me…
Because, still, today… I just wanted that freaking phone call.
It’s crazy immature. It’s ridiculously dramatic and quite hypocritical. I know a phone works two ways. But it sucks. To be the “bigger person” when I am ALWAYS the “bigger person” and when I’m literally, not supposed to be the bigger person in our relationship. To cry because you don’t call, but not call you because I’m crying. It sucks. You SUCK.
But I still… just want a phone call for our birthday.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Finding my Rockstar Mom Way 