Nobody puts baillee in the corner

(Sorry Biggie.)

Growing up, my mother made our birthdays downright magical. Don’t get me wrong, the buildup to the holidays was weeks in the making. We labored over picking the perfect costume (my favorites being an authentic, and in no way sexy, zombie school girl and Quailman) and gleefully watched as KP brought our visions to life. We spent hours carving pumpkins (usually, we chose elaborate designs that KP wound up finishing) and meticulously separated the seeds from the pulp (by we, I mean my mother) for KP to make her famous baked pumpkin seeds. She made sure the Macy’s Day Parade was on at promptly 9:00AM, and she never missed a favorite side dish or dessert. Not a corner of our house was lacking in the Christmas spirit, and we always got all of the presents we wanted (if something wasn’t there, I can assure you, it wasn’t missed). But birthdays, those were a whole other ball game. 

One year, I came home to balloon-filled room. Another resulted in a two story tall Spiderman bounce house. KP stressed the importance of the birthday week, but it wasn’t to make us narcisstic; it was to remind us of how important and special we were (by were, I mean are because I haven’t received my Handbook for the Recently Deceased.) 

You see, KP taught my sister and I birthdays were our days. It’s the one day out of the 365 we can truly claim as our own, and she made damn sure (I’m trying to get sponsored by Taking Back Sunday) we did. Now, I do too. That’s why I insist on midnight pancakes and surprise parties. That’s why I stick candles in everything and try to get thoughtful gifts. That’s why I spend far too much money. THAT’S why I make such a big deal out of birthdays. 

As someone who struggles with anxiety and depression, I know what it’s like to feel like you aren’t good enough and don’t deserve anything remotely decent or special. I know what it’s like to be so self-depreciating and insecure that you don’t want to celebrate anything. I know what it’s like to feel totally insignificant. That’s why I try so hard. I stay up early and get up late, but I don’t expect anything in return. All I ask is for you to feel special because one day of feeling special turns into two and so on and so forth until you know how special you are every single day.

My love of birthdays may sometimes border on the absurd, but it comes from a totally pure place. Birthdays should always be a big deal because you are a big deal. 

(Plus, writing nice things about KP will hopefully butter her up; I’ve got my eye on The Office box set for Christmas.)