It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to … or not

Saturday was my birthday. On April 14, 1985, I graced this world with my presence (aren’t you all just SO happy?)

Birthdays were always super awesome growing up. Not only does my April 14 birthday make me a fiery Aries woman (which I’m seriously, seriously obsessed and proud with), it meant prime weather. Sure, there might have been a few April showers here and there, but for the most part I had super awesome, not-too-hot, not-too-cold weather. Woo hoo April!

So anyway (did I really just go off on a weather tangent), I used to love my birthday. It was a day that celebrated me entering the world and every year I managed to stay alive. Don’t we ALL love our birthday?

And then, May 10, 2010, happened.

My darling, big ole’ veggie baby Pearyn graced the world with HER presence. And in the process of her «gracing the world,» she wreaked serious havoc on my body. In fact (warning, things might get graphic here), there is nothing even remotely graceful about the state she left my poor lady parts in. (See what I did there? I opted to use the utterly embarrassing phrase ‘lady parts’ to spare you the awkwardness of using the word ‘vagina.’ Wasn’t that graceful of me?)

Anyway, since becoming a mom, I’ve learned what the real «celebration» behind a birthday is. Babies are itty-bitty, teeny-weeny, sadists. Yup. They derive pleasure from leaving their mother’s bodies in a state of what can only be (gracefully) described as a crime scene and then for the next 80 years we celebrate THEM. Birthdays are essentially the celebration of the most painful day in your mother’s life. Woo! Let’s eat cake!

Once I got past this epiphany (and made a very loving phone call to my mother thanking her for going through the most painful thing in the entire world and then celebrating it for now the 27th year), I was able to really enjoy my birthday. The morning was as perfect as it could be. My husband was off and we woke up whenever.we.wanted. (Or, when Pearyn decided to wake us up, whichever). By 9 a.m. we were back in the big bed with Pearyn snuggled between us. And while I thought my little girl curling up into me and saying «I love you momma» was the best gift I could ever receive, my husband continued to blow my mind.

Side note, I’m a HUGE, huge, HUGE, HUGE Yankees fan. (Proceed to boo, vomit or jeer me here). I grew up playing softball, so naturally I grew up adoring baseball. And there is nothing I love more than a man in a pair of pinstripes playing in the Bronx Zoo.

Back to the blow-your-mind gift. Not only did my husband get us two tickets to a Yankees game, he got us two tickets to a Yankees game vs the Red Sox. And if that isn’t awesome enough, he got my brother in on all the birthday action and now he’s taking care of our weekend hotel stay. AND just to put the icing on the cake, he already got my parents to agree to watching Pearyn that weekend.

That’s right, this Chubby Vegan Mom is going to have herself a Chubby Vegan Vacation in New York. With the Yankees. And all the vegan food I can eat. Holy Moly.

So New York vegheads, can I get some tips? Any spots I absolutely HAVE to go? Any food I HAVE to eat while I’m in New York or I’ll die?

And if that birthday excitement wasn’t enough, we spent the evening with our best friends having dinner, drinks and bowling. Because nothing says birthday like hurling a ball at some pins (incredibly, incredibly badly might I add).

The truth is, even though the tickets and New York trip seem like the highlight of my birthday, I really think it’s the small things that made it.

I got to wake up next to my husband (a luxury that doesn’t often happen with his work schedule). I got to spend it cuddling in bed with my two favorite people in the whole wide world. I got to gab on the phone with my best friend in the entire wide world (and probably the only other person I would have wanted cuddling in the bed with us). I got texts all day from family and friends. I got obsessive Facebook notifications from people wishing me well. It doesn’t matter that it only took them two seconds to do this; what matters is how much I matter to them.

Every year we age, we learn a little more about the people in our lives who really, really matter. And this birthday, I was blessed to have so, so, so many people to thank.

(That, and the hope that I might run away with Derek Jeter while I’m in New York).

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