I have never understood why people complain about birthdays or give the standard, “I don’t really celebrate birthdays.” It’s a bunch of hogwash to me. I love birthdays. The only thing I love more than birthdays is MY birthday! And tomorrow is just that.
A few days ago I received an email from my husband wishing me a “Happy Birth Week!” Man, I love that guy. But I just can’t get him to accept Birth Months. Yes, I said months.
Birthday at some point in my life became a celebration of Birth Week. Then Birth Week became Birth Weeks. That’s right, the week before and the week after. Of course, that quickly rolled into Birth Month.
In more recent years, Birth Month became the month before and the month after. And this is where my husband drew the line. Although, he’s not really fooling anyone. I know that when June 13th rolls around, he starts thinking, “What can I do to NOT recognize Birth Months?” I am hip to his jive.
I’m still in the States, so we won’t be celebrating together this year. But he will still have most of a month left to help me celebrate when I get back. And if he refuses, well, there is always the threat of Birth Quarter!
So celebrate with me! It’s not just for me . . . it’s a celebration of life, of love, of harvest, of all things good!