Just Another Day

Its my birthday today and I'm feeling a bit grumpy about the whole thing. I initially thought that my grumpiness was down to a) entering my fortieth year and b) the weather, but I've come to the conclusion that the root cause is that for the first time in absolutely ages I'm not really marking the actual day in any way.

In the past I've always made an effort to do something on the whole of the day and not just let it slip by unnoticed and unloved. Since going out with Doug my birthdays have been spent in Paris, Hampton Court, Leeds Castle, Paris, Kew Gardens, the theatre, Kew Gardens; only in 2007 did we just go out in the evening and that was a combination of early pregnancy woes and a bit of apprehension about the bombs that had gone off a couple of days earlier.

This year, I'm not doing anything - Doug is working just about every hour god sends at the moment, and that includes weekends. While I'm mature enough to appreciate that its all part of ensuring the company's continued success and keeping a roof over our heads, I'm also immature (human?) enough to be a tad grumpy about the whole thing.

I'm not saying that we've done absolutely nothing for my birthday, as we went out for a very nice meal on Saturday night, but I think its the fact that today will be just another day, largely spent doing what I do every Monday (the laundry, some ironing, child-care and going to Morrisons) is whats making me the rather scowly ungrateful old cow that I feel I am today.

Oh well.