I'm not sure how to celebrate a birthday when you aren't here to actually turn another year older.
Cupcakes with big piles of unscientifically created buttercream frosting seem fitting, but I'm trying to cut back.
This is the year you would have turned 40. I did it in February, and customarily, you would just now be noticing because it's your birthday and, "Oh crap! I forgot your birthday again!" You only ever remembered my birthday by the fact that you had one too.
That will never cease to crack me up. You always apologized and never realized that I didn't expect you to ever wish me a happy birthday before April 13.
The other night, I dreamed that all of my guppies were still swimming around the tank, but they were only half of themselves. A head swimming around here, a tail swimming around there. I kept pulling half guppies out of the tank, searching and searching for a whole one. There were no whole ones.
Sometimes, I wish my dreams were a little less obvious.
I don't know. I think I'll have that cupcake. Call your boys to say hello. Say another prayer for your mama. Feed our fish.
When I eat that cupcake, I'm not singing. Because even though in my heart, I'll always celebrate the day you were born, I won't be saying "Happy birthday" about it for a long time.