This past June, I turned 32. Solidly in my 30's. And it was honestly one of my best birthdays. On my actual birthday, I actually went to work- I usually take it off. We had dinner with friends at one of my favorite restaurants (don't laugh), Native New Yorker and spent our late evening watching movies and eating ice cream.
The day after my birthday was the most unexpected, wonderful surprise. It was the 2 year anniversary of the day we got Buddy's test results. It's a day that stays in my mind as an AWFUL day. The day after my 30th birthday was honestly one of my worst - it was just heart-breaking for us both. The day after my 31st, a somber day that I tried my best to not be ruined, but still felt "blah," no matter what I tried to make myself feel. But the day after my 32nd birthday - that was amazing.
Without my knowing, my incredible husband planned a surprise party for me. I had suspicions, but nothing was concrete enough to make me know for sure. He cleaned the house, shopped in secret, invited friends. He made enough food for 20 people under the guise of "well, we can freeze meals and make it into good stuff later." My own medicine, used against me. I even tried to call his bluff as a last ditch effort to learn his motives, changing into PJs and figuring he would never let me answer the door in my pajamas. I was wrong. He invited about 6 couples over and when I opened the door for the first, I was most definitely wearing a tank top and my cupcake PJ pants. He even had a friend make me a cake - in the same flavor of the wedding cake the day we got married. We hung out, drank, ate, and laughed all night. It was perfect.
I always bragged that I was too nosy and too sneaky to ever be surprised with a party, and the day after I turned 32, I was just about proven wrong. It was more than just throwing me a birthday party. Buddy knew the day after my birthday is difficult, and he did what he could to make it a day I'd remember for something good. And he was amazingly successful.