Happy Birthday to my laughter. My love. My joy.
Happy Birthday to our sun, our moon, our guiding star, who just keeps smiling and keepin’ on the keepin’ on. Time and time again, I’ve sworn the world has ended, but you were right:
It all turned out just fine. Just like you said it would.
We all know Sydney wants to wish you the Happiest of Birthdays. She kind of did when she vomited at your feet at 2 am. I thought by the sound of it, she was chucking up her heart to give to you as a present. Leave it to your Cat-Wife to upstage the awesome briefcase I got you.
I am perpetually stunned by your loyalty, wisdom, and commitment to our journey. I am unconditionally grateful for every day of our life together.
But as the partner leading the way in aging, I’ve noticed recently you’ve started naming your aches and pains. Last night you called your knee pain, “patellar tendonitis”. Last fall you realized your side ache was something called, “a broken rib”. As a person who perpetually calls her skin cancer, “those pesky rashes”, let me tell you: aging ain’t for the weak. Birthdays can easily become a list of things you’ve survived, washed down with champagne and an eye-roll towards the Universe who is trying to kill you.
I’m kidding. You’re tougher than the Universe, and I’m fairly certain the Fates fear you.
But should those douche-canoes forget whose boss, I’ve got your back Baby. I fear no aches. I fear no pains. And I most certainly fear nothing with you at my side.
Happy Birthday Sweetheart! Your ladies love you!