Today marks the 43rd anniversary of my arrival on this planet.
In 1968, my Nana received (her words) "the best birthday present ever" when my mother delivered me on the date of her mother's birth, a happy twist of fate that has always made me feel a little more special, a little more lucky and a lot more blessed.
The date of my birth is also only two days prior to my mother's, which has also always felt like a gift, as well. The symmetry of a mother and daughter each birthing a daughter within two days of their own birthdays has always felt, to me, like a multigenerational trifecta. The fact that the three of us look exactly alike (Yes. Really.) is, in my not-so-humble opinion, no accident. Although I chose not to have children, I do admit to wondering if Mr J and I would have created a brown-haired, green-brown-eyed, Dorothy-Judy-Cathleen clone. And born on May 30, of course.
So. With all this magical thinking, is it any wonder that I treat my birthday like a national holiday? It doesn't help matters that it always falls within close proximity to summer's first fireworks, parades and hamburger/hot dog event (Which, bee-tee-dubs: three of my favorite things. Next to cake, anyway, but we've covered that topic...)
Or maybe I'm just a raging narcissist. Hmmm...
I'm gonna call it a draw.