I had a momentary lapse and thought we turned 32 this year. He looked at me, stopped for a moment as if he was trying to count years in his head and then asked, “are you kidding?” I wish I was kidding (that was a good joke, right?) but I really got confused for a moment.
Maybe some of us don’t intentionally stop counting birthdays after we turned 30. Maybe we just become forgetful. Or maybe we sometimes feel older than we really are.
We got him a cake this year! Although I intended to maintain my non–cake tradition by making dessert shooters (I planned to stick little candles on them), in the end I thought this year should have a proper birthday cake, even though, as expected, I’ve been eating all the left-over cake ever since. By the way, there’s more cake in the ref as I type this.
So he turned 31 (yes, not 32) this week, and even though we’ve spent the past 3 years celebrating birthdays together, everything I said 3 years ago still rings true today. Still in awe, still kilig, still in constant wonder for being blessed with such a great man to journey this life with.
Happy birthday, D. I love you, don’t forget.