Malaise.

So, I've been in kind of a funk for the past few days. Partly it's the weather (gray and rainy), partly it's my job (hate it and want it to end), but mostly, it's my birthday.

This has been going on for several years now. About a week before my birthday, I decide that I am not going to mope, I am going to be excited about cake and presents, I am going to plan a small trip somewhere fun, and most importantly, I am not going to mope. I am able to maintain this facade for a day or two and then it all comes crashing down. I whine, I shed a few tears here and there, I want to crawl into bed and cover my head with the covers, I want to hide from my responsibilities until the whole ugly mess is over.

I assumed it would be different this year. This year would be the year of the joyous birthday, since I am finally, miraculously pregnant. I was anticipating celebrating my birthday, and being glad to be at this time and place in my life. Don't get me wrong, I am happy about the time and place... Just not about the birthday. I loathe getting older, especially since it happens without my consent. It seems like yesterday I was 25 and now, all of the sudden, I'm staring my 35th birthday in the face. I do not approve. I also feel vaguely embarrassed about being 35 and pregnant for the first time. I know it's the norm nowadays, but it makes me feel like a story in a gossip column, like the one about the 60 year old woman who got pregnant with donor eggs and a fertility clinic. It doesn't help that I can remember reading in my brother's baby book how strange my Mom felt to be pregnant and 30. Gasp! The horror! She was so old! And that was her second child... (Nothing against women who are in their 30s or beyond who are pregnant. This is just about me whining.)

I will use my birthday as an excuse to gorge myself on treats from our awesome vegan bakery, but it's largely self-destructive. Loading up on sugar and fat and calories in the form of cupcakes is never a good idea, health-wise, though it may be the only thing that saves my sanity this year since I can't go drown my sorrows in a martini. The upside is I don't have to be social to do it. I just have to go to the bakery, pick out my weapons of choice, go home and stuff my face in solitude. (Well, Allen will likely witness the carnage - a mixture of buttercream and tears - but I'll gladly give him an out if he'd rather spend the time at a bar with friends.)

I guess I just feel like I am running out of time. There is still so much I want to accomplish in this life - so much left undone - and I am feeling the passage of time more fiercely with each passing year. Will I ever get to a point where birthdays are the joyous celebration they were when I was a kid? Hell, I'd even settle for the dinner out with friends fetes of my 20s. Though my 20s were somewhat tumultuous, those were some fun gatherings, and as a bonus, I got presents and free meals out of the deal. These days, I only hope no one will call me on my birthday so I don't have to pretend to be cheery and excited. So I can go back to bed and cry and wallow in solitude, without interruptions.

I tried to do something smart this year... I scheduled our anatomy scan ultrasound for the morning of my birthday so that I would have something amazing to focus on all day (boy or girl??) instead of wallowing in self pity. Let's all hope, for Allen's sake, if for no other reason, that it works. Because right now? It ain't lookin' so good...

I am grateful to be where I am - married to a wonderful man, expecting our first child, on the cusp of leaving my hated job behind, secure in home and finances. But I am also playing the birthday/pregnancy card on this one. I have the birthday blues and I am crazy hormonal and I am going to be melodramatic about it. Thanks in advance for your understanding. (Or at least your eye rolling disguised as tolerance. I'll take what I can get.)