Where did the years go?

In my head I am 32. I am, admittedly, not that much older, but it hit me the other day that at my next birthday I will be 34 and it just didn’t tally with the age I thought I was.

Which is odd because birthdays are important to me. I don’t subscribe to that whole don’t make a fuss thing. What’s not to like about presents, balloons, cake and a whole day to celebrate your existence? What’s more, I think birthdays become even more important once you have children because it’s an opportunity for them to learn about the pleasure of giving and making other people feel special, about saving pocket money for presents and attention not always being on them.

And while I remember my last birthday, the lunch with friends, the nice gifts and the fish and chips in the evening with Mr, I just didn’t take it in properly. My brain, addled by eight months of sleep deprivation at that time, just didn’t register the change in number. And now, when people ask me my age, I automatically say 32. I feel like the 490 or so people in Samoa who lost their birthday this year when the country decided they’d had enough of being a day behind their major trading partners and skipped December 30th.*

I wonder whether I will ever catch up with myself.

*Yes really, there are just 179,000 people in Samoa, which divided by 365.25 is 490.

Why books should get dog-eared

My daughter got the lovely Kipper's Birthday by Mick Inkpen as a present. Not only is it a lovely book, but it comes with a lovely introduction by the author in which he says:

"What any author wants is for his books to become dog-eared and familiar. I've been lucky enough that my very young readers are particularly adept at giving their books doggy ears in no time at all."

Which is a lovely thing to write as I had been holding back the paper books in favour of board ones so that they don't get too ripped and creased. Now I realise how silly that is.

The difference a year makes

Years are odd things. They're not completely random lumps of time, what with being based on lunar cycles and planets going round suns and the tides and all that, but why 365 days should feel so different to 364 or 366 is an odd one.

Yet as my daughter is on the cusp of turning one I feel rather emotional about the whole thing. It's no coincidence I'm sure that today, as we geared up to say goodbye to her time being nought but not nothing, I had a terrible day, full of tearful encounters, silly clumsiness and general wobbles.

I'm thrilled too of course, as well as emotional, that she's made it this far, that we've made it this far, and that she's grown so much, in every sense. I celebrate her life every day, constantly in a state of gratitude (and fear) for her existence, but to share this joy with others on her birthday is extra special.

When it came to writing her birthday card all of this, it turned out, could be expressed in one short phrase that has always seemed rather quaint before. But in three words it sums up all that I want for my daughter - many happy returns.