I’m 32. I know, that’s not really that old, but I am feeling my age today. Mostly the adult part.
I was really hurt yesterday that my husband didn’t say ‘happy birthday’ in the morning. He didn’t say it when we messaged back and forth while I was work. He didn’t say it until I had gone up to pout in our room when I got home from work. I know, it makes me sound like a four year old, but I don’t care. No one at my office knew it was my birthday, and I wasn’t going to shout it from the rooftops. So as far as work was concerned it was just another day.
And I should have been okay with that. I don’t really like attention from people I don’t know. Private attention from Sir, a lover, or a friend is fine, but I don’t like being a public spectacle. However, as the day wore on, I could feel myself starting to dip. It may have just been that the husband remained silent, but by the time I got home I was a mess. I don’t know why it affected me so much.
I think I had just hoped for a bit more attention at home. The boys had made me a card and my husband had baked a cake on Sunday. It was lovely, and the gifts they bought were very nice. Maybe I just needed a hug.
But, now I am 32. Fretting about things I cannot change won’t help me move forward. And it’s not like I had a terrible birthday. Lovely people wished me a happy day and the fact that they thought of me was special. Now to finish out these last few weeks at my job and start at a place where I’m not self-conscious sharing my birthday with my co-workers.