When I was younger, I was always so thankful my birthday wasn’t on leap year. I know you get to celebrate on the 28th or whatever, but it really isn’t the same. The concept of never really celebrating your birthday on the day you were born stresses me out. It’s like you are somehow cheated of the one day that is really all about you. That is just so unfair!
Considering we won’t have another one for something like 10 years (I think), I feel pretty lucky I might dodge having any children on February 29th. Can you imagine the mother’s guilt associated with that oversight? I guess these days you can ask for mercy and let your OBGYN induce you on the 28th, but either way I feel so much better not having to worry about it.
This might seem totally neurotic, but if the child shares my DNA they will thank me later.
Now I just have to worry about:
- My Birthday
- Our wedding anniversary
- New Year’s Eve
- Valentine’s Day
- The month of July (that’s my birthday month) and August (Houston summer. Self explanatory)
I don’t think I’m missing any right? I don’t think Terry cares if he shares his birthday, but I’ll do my best to avoid it as well.