Holy crap, I’m turning 33 today.

I’m not one of those people who freak out at getting older. If you know me in real life, you might have noticed that on the first of every month I will mention at least once that it’s my un-birthday, saying “today I turn 32-and-one-sixth” or, when people ask my age, I get a bit too specific and say something like “I’m 32-and-a-quarter… and 3 days.”

Spot the adult who’s still clinging onto childhood.

But this doesn’t exactly mean that I enjoy my birthday. I’m not good being the centre of attention as it is, let alone when people sing HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me (I still haven’t mastered a comfortable way to “be” when that’s happening – I usually dance and sing along, wishing myself a happy birthday, too). I think it took until about my 24^th birthday before I could even get through a rendition of HAPPY BIRTHDAY without crying, because I would think of those who weren’t there to sing to me – dad, grandparents, my brother-in-law… the ones who left me too soon.

My 31^st and 32^nd birthdays were complete write-offs. The week I turned 31, I crashed my car, had my birthday merged with my sister’s wedding (can’t begrudge her that, the wedding was beautiful and I got to play bridesmaid) and mum completely forgot my birthday. Not that it was a deliberate act on her part, but heartbreaking for me, nonetheless. Turning 32 was the biggest birthday write-off of all. The night before my birthday was when my sisters and I had a REALLY TOUGH family meeting with mum’s healthcare team. It was about halfway through her hospitalisation and I was completed exhausted. I lost count of how many times I totally lost my shit, unable to even comprehend where my strength would come from to stay on top of it all.

If it wasn’t for my fabulous friends and then-fiancé – I may have banned all future birthdays from the agenda.

A few weeks ago, I was determined to confront turning 33 head-on. I had grand designs of a big picnic with friends and family surrounded by cupcakes and many other forms of sugar. But then I remembered how bad I am with being the centre of attention, freaked out about the whole thing and gave up.

While I’m quietly apprehensive, almost daring the universe to pull another dud birthday on me, I’ve decided that turning 33 is going to be a low-key affair and I’m going to take the time to enjoy it. Dinner and icecream cake tonight. I’m taking myself to see Bachelor Girl at The Basement on Friday night (so excited to be going, even though there’s no one willing/able to come with) and then on Saturday night I’m joining a bunch of bloggers for drinkies in Darlo.

And I’ve decided that 33 is my new lucky number :)