Birthdays

Sitting in the parking lot of Toys-R-Us has never been so thrilling.

Why am I in the parking lot and not the store, you ask?
Well to be quite honest----I don't know why.
My dad went in an hour ago to get a gift for my nephew and apparently I have "issues" around toys. (LIFE LESSON #1: you are never too old to play with legos in the middle of a Toys-R-Us).

But getting back on topic: my dad went in AN HOUR AGO to get a toy for my nephew. Tomorrow he will be 10. The big 1-0.
And I will officially be old.

I remember holding him in my arms in that white hospital room thinking "Damn----you are one fat son-of-a-bitch. Welcome to the family".

I have had the pleasure of watching him grow, from a chubby little cherub---to a tall lean-mean dinosaur hunting machine. I have seen him learn how to speak, how to walk, and how to fight. I have observed him grow into his own; and now----in only a few hours---my little nephew will begin his double digits.

Tomorrow will be his day, and I'm sure it will be filled with dinosaur themed cake, and ninja fighting pinatas, and all that jazz.

Tomorrow we celebrate his birth.

See---that is something I never understood.

Birthdays.
it's not what it is that confuses me. I mean, come on, it is a literal BIRTH DAY----it's not that hard to comprehend.

What confuses me is this---- why am I celebrating your birth?
Like---what the hell did you do?

Now, I'm not a doctor or anything---but I can almost grantee that you didn't conceive yourself. You didn't think yourself into existence.

No.

Someone had to carry you around for 9 months in their belly, then push you----at the size of a watermelon---through a half-of a fist sized vagina---- and then on top of that---- they had to feed you, clothe you, and so on for the next 18 years or so.

What did you do that was so great?
It was the doctor that pulled you out, cut your chord, made sure you were living----
Your mother literally thrusted you into the world, okay?
9 MONTHS.

That is 273 days with a human being inside of your body.
Feeding off of you.
Taking parts of you---your blood--- and putting it into themselves.
That is messed up.
That's not "a little angel in your stomach"
That is a parasite.


Okay, it is a cute parasite---but it doesn't make a difference. A fetus is is solely dependent on its mother.

So in short: I don't get why we celebrate a baby's birth.
I think we should celebrate those that made your existence possible.


Next time your birthday comes around: I want you to say

"Hey mom. Hey dad. Thank you. For fucking. Because I now exist"

I want you to call up that doctor that helped you enter this world and say:

"Hello Sir and or Mam. 16 years ago you stuck your hand into my mother's vagina and pulled me out---that was really cool of you. Thanks"

I want you to get your mother an ice cream cake
and I want you to profusely love her and hug her because she made you possible.

I know we have mother's day---- but a day really isn't enough.
You can't do a lot in a day---- in 273 days----well, that's a different answer----


Now I don't want to get rid of birthday's all together.

Don't get me wrong: I love birthdays.

I still remember my 4th birthday when I woke up and found a ball-pit in my room--- and I screamed so much and I jumped in and I broke that thing within 3 minutes.

I still remember hearing my parents breathing heavily that night from blowing up each individual ball----
They did that for me.

For my birthday.

I remember they specifically made a pink butter cream barbie cake for me because they couldn't find the shade of pink I liked best at a shoprite store so they spent all afternoon slaving over an oven baking for me.

My parents did so much for me-- for something I didn't even do.

That's why I want to change birthdays....

I want to make birthdays into birthweeks.

Everyone who was a part of the process should get their own day.

Mother's day, Father's Day, Doctor's Day, and your day. Because birth---creation---- isn't a job for one person.

It takes passion, and effort, and love.

And that's what a birthday really is about: love.

Your parents love you enough to bring you into this world--- to stay up all night and blow up tiny little balls for you---- to make you a cake, and invite your snotty little friends over for a party----and buy you some really expensive gift that you will most likely break by the end of the night----


Birthdays are about love--- so let yourself be loved. Just don't forget to love them back. Let your love be known.


Happy Birthday little nephew.

Love,
Hayley Michelle Trachtenberg