Birthday

My counselor has been a tremendous help to me just in general life stuff so when I was making a off hand snarky comment about my friends forgetting my birthday again, and my friend J.R. asking if I was going to have a party and me promptly stating that No I don't do parties; I actually took some time afterward to reflect as to why it is that I both love and hate my birthday so much.

The first time I knew that I had a birthday was probably around 4 years old maybe 5, my mom, step-dad#1 and I were staying in this house with no running/working anything and one day my uncle comes over with a Mrs Piggy tea set and tells me Happy Birthday. I had no idea what that meant but all I knew was that it was the most beautiful and fanciest thing I had ever seen and I loved it. It had a pink tray with indents for the saucers and the teapot in the middle so they wouldn't spill, it came with 4 saucers and 4 teacups, a teapot with a lid, and I think a creamer too. I remember thinking I had no idea what this happy birthday thing was about but I was totally ok with it. That was the first and last time I remember my birthday ever being talked about until 'after' I turned 6. 
 I was about 7 when mom first had the talk with me, my birthdays November 18th, I had the choice, birthday gifts or Christmas gifts she couldn't afford to buy both. The first year I wanted birthday gifts, I was ok, Santa could bring me Christmas gifts and I'd rather get the one or two things from Mom for my birthday (step-dad#1 was gone by then and good riddance) and then be happy with whatever Santa brought me.  
Now you got to understand at 7 birthdays were still a pretty new idea, I'd had one at like 4 and then one maybe around 6 that I don't remember but 7 was really the age for me. I'd started public school for the first time ever, I was around real kids my own age, I was in a house with electricity, I wasn't being abused, and I had lots of food to eat so I was totally like on cloud 9.  So Mom had just said the cool word "Birthday", I'm like "heck yeah birthday! Mrs Piggy tea set!" My birthday comes, I get some nifty purple stuff, because I was into purple back then (as most young girls are). Come Christmas time I'm still excited, Santa, Jesus, Rudolph no idea how they all go together but they do and I'm ready for it. Then the bomb drops. No Santa, no gifts, but guess what, you're going to have a sister in a couple months. (Oh and after she's born you'll realize that since her birthday is in April, she WILL get both birthday and Christmas presents. In fact, all of your siblings will get both birthday and Christmas presents EXCEPT you even unto this very day.)
After that year, I took the Christmas presents. I could deal with never getting a birthday present, I wasn't even fully sure my birthday happened every year anyway, but I did know Christmas happened every year and seeing that tree empty was the most depressing thing ever. Every story I'd ever seen on TV or had read to me said there was presents under the tree. I just couldn't handle it. At that point my birthdays had been a rare thing, fun but nothing special, but Christmas, Christmas was big, the entire world celebrated 'that' birthday!

I tried to have a birthday party once, begged my mom to clean the apartment, do something with the piles of laundry (literally waist high in some areas, no really it covered the entire floor of the apartment) to wash anything. Finally my next door neighbor took pity on me and hosted the party at his place. My friends showed up for a hour, it was awkward and embarrassing, eventually we just gave up and went back to one of their houses. I think I was 10. That was the only birthday party I had until I became an adult. I don't count the occasional 'gather the family around for home-made cake after dinner' as a party.
 I think my mom 'tried' to throw me a surprise party for my 16th, but I had called home from school to ask mom if it was ok if I went and spent some time with my boyfriend and friends until 6pm since my family forgot my birthday again and instead of asking me to come home or anything, step-dad#2 blew up on the phone, told me I was kicked out and to never return. So I did a lot of "bad ideas" for my 16th. The next day I went home after I knew step-dad#2 was at work and got the full scoop from Mom. That was the beginning of me moving out for good. I still never got a good answer out of that man as to why he didn't just say "hey come home."

Now as grown up I kinda want my friends and family to remember my birthday but at the same time, I don't want the disappointment that I feel is inevitably going to go with it. And staring 34 in the face, the disappointment has definitely outweighed the happy in the long line of birthdays I've had since I hit 18. Though after I hit 18 I really have only one person to blame if they sucked and that's myself. I think looking back, I always waited for those sit-com / disney'esque moments where my awesome friends or boyfriends would throw me parties or surprise bashes or I'd get romantic nights with my hunny. Now I realize that I need to help make those realities happen for myself and honestly, I didn't really date men for their 'romantic' sides so that was a bit unrealistic. To be fair I've had a few parties, and a few "nights" since I came of age, some were good, some ok, some better left forgotten.
I say this all with the best of intentions for the "buck-up girl" mentality but deep down inside there is still the lonely girl who has no clue whats going on and just misses her pink plastic Mrs Piggy tea set.