Pampering. Not the Diapers.

How can I tell you, O Internet, of the beauty that was my birthday?

Let me count the ways.

(1) Viva! Woke up grumpy. As she was sitting on the potty, I reminded her that today was my birthday. Her face lit up. "Happy Birthday!" she crowed, opening her arms wide in the universal "give me a hug" signal. We hugged nicely. She smelled of sweetness and light. "I'm so excited!" she said. I just love her so.

(2) Milk Bath! At a spa. In a dimly lit room with soft music and flickering candles.

(3) Facial! At same spa. Long overdue. Hey, there's my skin!

(4) Lunch! At a restaurant. Focaccia, shrimp fettuccine and goat cheese salad.

(5) Massage! At home. Given by Sweet William's alterego, who prepared both a glass of wine and some tea for me prior to the massage and put Miles Davis on the CD player.

(6) Birthday sex! In the afternoon, while our kid was at school! No chance of being interrupted!

(7) Reading a book! In the afternoon, while our kid was at school! No chance of being interrupted!

(8) Balloon! Flowers! Cake! All delivered by my husband and child, who was nap-free and giddy with excitement/exhaustion by the time she came home.

(9) Dancing! After the cake. Apparently, to Viva it is not a party if there is not music and dancing. I guess she's right. My in-laws came over for the cake and singing and were forced to dance with all of us to the sweet strains of "Bananaphone" (not the Raffi version, the Rhonda Vincent version; click here for a funny sped-up animated version). It's a small price to pay for tiramisu cake and hijinks with your granddaughter, I'd say...

It all deteriorated shortly thereafter, due to the afore-mentioned lack of nappingness on the part of the fruit of our loins. She morphed into a complete velociraptorish, shrieking-at-high-decibel mess by about 6 o'clock. We said goodbye to our plans of a romantic dinner out and by the time we put her to bed, a scant two hours later, we were both wrung out as though we had run a marathon.

I felt every one of my 35 years after that. (I forgot to mention that I've decided that with this birthday, I'm going backwards. I've decided I should at least be younger than Sweet William, who in real life is 16 months younger than I. Hmm, for a very interesting look at age and time and marriage and life, I recommend The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger. I read it this past week, courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library and their fabulous online hold feature. Yes, regular readers! I have already received some of the books I requested! It is just as fabulous as I feared -- I mean, hoped!)

Many happy returns of the day.